Progeny
by SalishSea
Summary: Catherine and Vincent want a future together, without fear, without Muirfield. Eventually, talk of their future will have to include children and family. But for them, children and family are not a given and their future is uncertain. Can their love for each other bridge the chasm between their dreams and their reality?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Catherine and Vincent want a future together, without fear, without Muirfield. Eventually, talk of their future will have to include children and family. But for them, children and family are not a given and their future is uncertain. How will their love for each other bridge the chasm between their dreams and their reality. This will probably be a two-shot, maybe a three-shot, it will depend on how Chapter 2 goes. Enjoy. Disclaimer: I own nothing, no profit or gain. **

* * *

_**Progeny**_

_**Chapter 1**_

Catherine let out a hard breath, the wind knocked out of her by the blond, pig-tailed, six year old tornado that had launched into her lap.

The little girl pulled her feet up and snuggled into Catherine's embrace. "Auntie Cat, do you really catch the bad people?"

"Jennifer, shush," her mother said, letting out a snort. "Don't bother Auntie Cat with that."

Catherine looked down at the wide, shiny, blue eyes staring up at her and felt her heart melt. Pulling the little girl closer Catherine hugged her tightly and buried her nose into the blond curls, inhaling the smell of soap and shampoo and fresh little girl clothes.

"It's okay, Annie," Cat said to her long-time friend and college roommate.

"Yeah, Jenny," Catherine explained, "I catch the bad people. So they won't be mean to others." She pulled her head back and smiled down at the little girl. "Hey, your mommy said you colored a picture yesterday. Can I see it?"

Jennifer broke into a huge grin and nodded enthusiastically. "I'll go get it," she said. "Wait here, Auntie Cat."

"I'll be right her sweetie," Catherine replied as Jennifer climbed down from her lap, ran across the deck and past the screen door into the house.

Catherine watched her leave and let out a long, slow sigh. After a moment she felt eyes on her and turned to see Annie smirking.

"What?" Catherine said, a defensive grin on her face.

"She adores you, you know," Annie said.

"And I adore her," Catherine said. "Jenny is …," she paused, trying to find the right words, "… a miracle."

Annie gave a wistful look toward the house where he daughter had disappeared. "She definitely is that," she said. "Before we had Jennifer I couldn't imagine taking on that kind of responsibility. But now, I can't imagine my life without her. She changed everything. She made everything clear; gave everything meaning and purpose. If that's not a miracle, I don't know what is."

Catherine nodded, following her friend's gaze toward the little girl's wake.

"You know, girl," Annie said, her eyebrows cocked at her friend, "your biological clock is ticking. When are you going to graduate from auntie to mommy?"

Catherine's chest tightened, a deep sadness moved through her like slow, sticky molasses. She averted her eyes to the wooden deck and took in a shuddering breath, the grief and sadness inside her breaking through for just an instant before she pushed it back down.

But Annie had seen her turmoil. "Cat, I'm … I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-"

Catherine looked up with a weak, half-smile and raised her hand slightly, cutting off her friend. "It's okay, Annie. I'm okay."

As the words left Catherine's mouth tears pooled in her eyes despite her struggle to push down the hopelessness welling up inside. She looked back down and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Oh, Catherine. I feel terrible," Annie said, stepping over to the porch swing where Catherine sat, settling down next to her. Annie gathered Catherine into her arms, much as Catherine had embraced the little girl. As her friend's protective arms wrapped around her Catherine felt her emotional walls collapse, her tears breaking through as she sobbed into Annie's shoulder.

Annie held her, rocked her, soothed her. Catherine's grief poured out, spilling onto and around her friend. She gave a silent prayer of thanks for Annie. Annie, who she trusted. Annie, who knew more than anyone Catherine's horrible history of choosing men who were bad for her, who were cruel to her, who were unfaithful to her. Annie, who had been her rock through so many of her bad decisions about men.

And now …, now that she had finally made the right choice - had chosen Vincent - she couldn't share the joy of her love for him with her friend. Neither could she share the deep, piercing agony that she and Vincent could never conceive a child together. _Their_ child would never be. To try would be selfish, irresponsible; condemning the child to a lifetime of pain and suffering and being hunted like an animal by Muirfield. She would never hold their child in her lap. Never nuzzle her nose into her baby's soft hair. Never feel her infant's sleeping breath against her breast. The ache deadened her heart and she felt empty and hollow.

After a time Catherine's sobs lessened, her shaking body calmed. Taking in a deep breath she sat back and took Annie's hands in hers. "Thank you, Annie."

Annie gave her a guilty smile and shrugged her shoulders. "Cat -" she started to say, but Jennifer bounced through the patio door, drawing in hand - color crayon art of the most priceless variety.

Running over to Catherine she climbed up onto the porch swing and insinuated herself into Catherine's lap, holding up the picture. Catherine's sadness left as her joy and love for the miracle in her embrace filled her again. She smiled at Annie and both women gushed over the little girl's drawing, convinced it was the most beautiful piece of artwork in the world.

Catherine passed the rest of the afternoon with Jennifer in and out of her lap. She had come on her day off to visit an old friend, but instead, a little angel had given her a brief glimpse of heaven.

As the late afternoon sunlight faded Catherine said her goodbyes, promising to visit again. But as she drove back toward the city, tears streaming down her cheeks, she knew she wouldn't be able to go back anytime soon. Her heart needed time to mend before she tore it apart again.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to post this second and final chapter. When my muse brought this story to me I thought, "cool, no problem, I know about this stuff. I can write this story." And knowing about it was the problem. I was surprised at how hard it was to bring myself back to this story - it touched too many of my nerves. I tried hard to keep it Catherine's and Vincent's story, to be true to who they are. I hope I succeeded. Thanks to everyone who left reviews for Chapter 1. Because of your encouragement I was able to finish this story. Enjoy.**

* * *

_**Progeny**_

_**Chapter 2**_

Curled up on her couch, wrapped in her favorite terrycloth robe, a pint of chocolate mint ice cream half-gone sitting on the coffee table, Jane Austin's epic love story, Pride and Prejudice, playing on the DVD - that's how Vincent found Catherine when he arrived at her apartment that evening, stealing in through her bedroom window and padding softly down the hallway to the living room.

Deliberately scuffing his feet so Catherine knew he was near he stopped short as he came upon the sight. When upset, Catherine would retreat to one of her favorite _comforts_. Most often, her ice cream. When things were more difficult than usual - her soft, comfy robe. After a particularly hard day - Pride and Prejudice. But for the _comfort_ trifecta to be present all together, she had to be immense emotional pain.

He didn't say anything, knowing she didn't need questions, didn't need platitudes. She just needed him. She needed to feel accepted, protected and adored. And he was beyond grateful that he was the only one that could do all of that for her.

Vincent dropped quietly to the couch and slid toward her. She didn't look up at him, her head turned toward the TV. As he slowly moved toward her he saw drops pool in her eyes, spilling over in quiet tears. Vincent closed the distance between them and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, gently pulling her into his side. For a moment her body was stiff, but then she turned her head into his chest and melted against him, tears finally released. He drew her closer, wrapping his other arm around her, engulfing her, the fierce need to protect her from anything and everything burning in his chest.

Pushing his nose into her hair Vincent took in her scent. She smelled of soap and strawberry shampoo and wet hair and clean, fresh skin. He knew her smell, it was imprinted on his senses, another way she lived within him. He felt her trembling in his arms and looked up at the ceiling praying for the release of her pain, tears pooling in his own eyes.

He knew what she needed now was not words. Words now would be for his own need - his desire to save her, to try to fix whatever problem she faced - so he, himself wouldn't feel helpless. Words would come later, at her initiation, when she was ready. Words to meet her need, not his. What she needed now was his unconditional love, his quiet protection, his steady presence. She had taught him that. And it was the most painful thing he had ever done - to sit, powerless, not acting, not moving, just being. But it was only when he was quiet and present that his power and strength could flow into her. And she needed his strength now. So he would endure the pain, gladly.

They sat for a long time. Eventually, Catherine's quiet sobs subsided, her trembling body stilled, her breathing growing steady and calm. Vincent breathed out a sigh of relief, the ache in his own chest at her sorrow fading just a little.

Catherine tilted her head up, still nestled against his shoulder and captured his eyes with hers. "I'm so glad you're here," she whispered. "I need you … so much."

Vincent's hand glided up and softly caressed her head, her cheek, the side of her neck. "I'll always be here. I don't exist anywhere else but here, with you."

She smiled and nodded, then buried her head back into his chest and nuzzled closer pulling herself into him. A warmth Vincent knew so well spread out from his heart into his chest, overwhelming his senses and filling his thoughts - his love for her, and only for her. He sighed, content that she was safe from the world in his arms. They stayed like that for a long time, until the movie ended and the screen went blank.

"I spent the day with Annie," Catherine said, her voice muffled into his chest.

He nodded, knowing she could feel it against her head.

"Her daughter, Jennifer, is … a miracle." She took in a shuddering breath. "Oh God, Vincent. I can't be strong about this. I don't know how." She pulled herself tighter into him.

Her words had come. It was time. And now he knew the source of her pain. Only he wasn't sure he was strong enough to be her rock. Like her, this was his achilles heel as well. He hadn't thought about children or having a family since his brothers died in the towers. And after Murifield had changed him, had corrupted his DNA, he had given up all hope of ever having a family.

But since Catherine had come into his life, since he had become more to her than just a silent sentinel over the years, the thought of a future with her, with children, had torn painfully at his heart. He knew it wasn't possible. Their child could never be. And every time he looked at her the pain of what they would never have seared deep into his soul.

"Catherine, I dream about our baby, our children. It hurts, so bad, that it can't be different for us."

Catherine sat up, still in his embrace, and looked into his eyes. "You do?" she said, surprise in her voice.

"Everyday."

"I didn't know."

"I'd given up hope a long time ago of ever having a family. After Afghanistan - after Muirfield. But now, I'm reminded everyday of what was taken from me - taken from us."

"Oh, Vincent. I'm so sorry."

"No, Catherine, don't be sorry. It's because of you I can love again. It's because of you I can feel the pain of wanting a family. Feeling the pain means I'm alive, not dead and empty like before." He leaned down and brushed a soft kiss against her lips. "If the universe feels I'm worthy to have you, then that's all I need. You're all I need."

Catherine took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I love you, you know that. If I could have your children, Vincent, it would be amazing."

"We would have beautiful babies," he smiled down at her. "But we can't risk bringing a child into the world, not with what we know Murifield did to me."

"You're right. It's not an option for us." Catherine reached up and clutched at his hand. "There still is an _us_, right? I want there to be," she said, looking at him anxiously.

Vincent leaned down again, his lips a breath away from hers. "There always has been an _us_, even before you knew who I was. And there always will be. I promise." He closed his eyes, breathing her in, his lips quivering. He felt her hand cup his cheek, caressing his face.

"Maybe, someday, we can have a family," Vincent said softly, opening his eyes. "Maybe, someday, when Murifield is gone, you and I can have our dream together."

"What do you mean?" Catherine whispered back.

"You love Jennifer, don't you?" Vincent said.

"Yes. Yes I love her. She's incredible."

"Even though she's not your child?"

"Of course. She's precious. She's perfect."

"It's her that you love, not her DNA. It's her spirit, it's her life that makes her a gift to the world. We both know that we're not our DNA. If I was - you wouldn't have seen through that to the real me, to the me that you love."

Catherine nodded, staring at him, mesmerized.

"It's not DNA that makes a family. It's commitment and sacrifice and love. And we have that. And we can share that. Someday I want to share the life you and I have together with others. There are a lot of children in the world not as lucky as we were to have families that loved us. Children that are miracles and who need a family."

Tears started trickling down Catherine's cheeks. She nodded vigorously, then crashed her head into his chest. "Oh, Vincent, yes! I've thought the same thing, but didn't know how to talk to you about it. I was afraid you would be disappointed. You'll be such a wonderful father, Vincent. You have so much love to give."

"I'm not that strong, Catherine. It's you and I together that can bring love to a child and a family. I want that with you and I'm going to do everything in my power to make it happen. And when the time is right, the universe will give us our own miracle. Or miracles - plural - for that matter," he finished with a soft chuckle.

"God, I love you," Catherine breathed, looking up at him again. "I want that too, so much. I want that with you."

She pulled his head down, bringing his lips to hers. Vincent felt his heart soar as he melted into her. Their kiss ended softly as Catherine sank back into his embrace, Vincent's arms wrapping around her.

As his breathing steadied, Vincent felt a tinge of hope spark deep inside. Since he and Catherine had found each other his life had been rekindled, his future no longer bleak and empty. A family - a desire beyond his wildest dreams - might be within his grasp. As long as he kept hold of Catherine and never let her go.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Originally I hadn't planned to go beyond two scenes for this story. But everyone who left reviews were so kind and there seemed to be an interest in continuing to explore Cat's and Vincent's feelings around kids and family. So, at the gentle urging of many reviewers I decided to continue the story with this third chapter. I'm not sure where the story's going, or how long it will be, or how often I will be able to add to it, but I suppose that's what life is like. Thanks to everyone who's read, especially to those who've left comments and reviews. **

* * *

_**Progeny**_

_**Chapter 3**_

_Soft light seeped through her closed eyelids, nudging her gently awake. As sleep left her Catherine yawned deeply and lengthened her body into a long, feline stretch. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked around their bedroom. _

_On the wall to the right of the window was a photograph of her with her arms wrapped around her reason for living. They were laughing at the camera. She remembered when that photo was taken. She had thought her face might split open her grin was so big. As she looked at him her heart melted and her protective instincts welled up. Tears of gratitude pooled in her eyes. God, he was beautiful. More beautiful than anything or anyone in the entire universe. _

_She let her eyes rove to the photo mounted on the other side of the window. Another picture of her laughing, this one with the love of her life. The warmth in her heart spread down to settle between her thighs and she was instantly dripping with desire. Damn hormones. Not that Vincent wasn't the object of her desire. He definitely was. But transforming into the horniest woman on the planet in a heartbeat had proved inconvenient at best and embarrassing at worst. Except that Vincent was always eager to quell her thirst for him. She grinned at the thought. Go hormones._

_Looking at the bedside clock she groaned. It was 10 am. She'd slept longer than she'd wanted. As Catherine rolled to her other side a spear of pain lanced through her lower back. "Damn," she said out loud, "that one hurt." Her breath came in quick bursts as she tried to sit up, fighting through the pain._

_The bedroom door opened and Vincent stepped through, moving quickly to sit next to her, gently pushing her back down to the bed. "Slow down there, Keller," he said. _

_Catherine's eyes opened wide in surprise. "Why aren't you in your scrubs?" she said. "You need to leave soon."_

_"I took myself out of the weekend rotation for a while," he said. "So, I get to be home with you."_

_"How'd you pull that off?" she said._

_"There're plenty of ER docs willing to trade-out with me. Especially now. Everyone's anxious."_

_Catherine let out a huff. "Like they have something to be anxious about."_

_"Hey," Vincent said, "they all like you. And they don't want to piss you off. They're afraid of the big, bad NYPD cop."_

_Catherine snorted. "Yeah, like I'm in any condition to be a 'bad-ass'."_

_Vincent scooted up beside Catherine and gently placed the palm of his hand on her severely distended belly. His hand was warm through the shear fabric of her night gown and his touch sent a prickle of electricity down her body, adding to the desire throbbing between her legs._

_"Once she's here you'll be back in 'bad-ass' shape in no time. It didn't take you any time at all after Tommy was born."_

_They both looked up to the right side of the window, at the picture of Catherine and her four year old son. _

_"You really should be at work," Catherine said. "I'm fine." _

_"You're about ready to pop," Vincent said, incredulously. "You're already four days over due. I am not gonna leave you alone to figure out your own way to the hospital and me just meet you there. Sounds like a bad date."_

_"I don't need-" she began to protest, but Vincent put a finger to her lips. _

_"Catherine Keller, you are more important to me than the air I breathe. You're the reason I chose to live all those years ago. Then you gave me another reason to live. And soon, you'll have blessed me with a third. You've made all of my dreams come true and I would do anything for you."_

_Catherine tucked her head into his chest and snuggled closer. "You're way too good to me," she whispered._

_"Nah," Vincent chuckled. "And besides, I'm not gonna let you have all the fun."_

_Catherine pulled her head back and gave him a mock glare. "Fun? You think this is fun? I look like a beached whale, my back is constantly sore, I gotta pee every ten minutes, I can't stop craving anchovies and pepperoni, I'm horny all the time …, and …, and then there's this …," she pointed to the two wet spots on her nightgown where her breasts had leaked because she hadn't yet expressed her milk this morning. "Fun my ass," she huffed._

_Vincent pulled her head gently back into his chest. "You know if you need anything - your back rubbed, toilet flushed, run to the store at midnight, and definitely taking care of any residual horniness - I'm you're man. And as far as the beached whale analogy goes," he paused and pulled her chin up so he could look into her eyes, "you've never looked more beautiful." He dipped his head, his lips gently claiming hers, kissing her softly, slowly. Catherine felt his love in the kiss, deep and sure and committed. She knew her kiss was full of the same._

_The kiss ended, their lips lingering only a breath apart. "Come on," Vincent whispered, "let's get you something to eat." _

_Before Catherine could react Vincent stood, bent down and scooped her up into his arms. She let out a surprised shout and then started laughing. Vincent drowned her laughter in another kiss, this one less gentle with more heat and desire._

_"Does that mean I might get my hormones appeased later this morning?" she said after the kiss ended, giving Vincent a seductive look._

_"Like I said, I'm your man. What are you hungry for?"_

_"Besides you?"_

_Vincent smiled. "Yeah, besides me."_

_"Eggs, bacon, toast, the usual. But before anything I need to deal with these," she said, pointing at her burgeoning breasts. "Drop me off in our bathroom and I'll fire-up the pump. Then come get me in about thirty minutes."_

_Vincent carried her to the bathroom, set her down and said in his best imitation of Arnold Schwarzenegger, "I'll be back."_

_Catherine giggled and shooed him out the door._

_Half an hour later, despite her protests that she could walk, Vincent carried Catherine to the living room, sat her on the couch, covered her with an afghan and moved the TV remote, her computer tablet and other miscellaneous items within her reach._

_"Where's Tommy," Catherine asked, although she new the answer._

_"I put him down for his nap. We've been up since 6 am. He's one pooped-out puppy," Vincent said, setting a plate of food in her lap. _

_Catherine breathed in the aroma. Her mouth began to salivate and she licked her lips. She looked up at Vincent. "Can I keep you?" she said. "I'll give you double your salary."_

_Vincent chuckled. "You've always had me. And you've already given me more than any man has a right to have." He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Now, eat."_

_He didn't have to tell her twice. She was starving. She grabbed her fork and dug in._

_Catherine finished her meal and exaggeratedly smacked her lips, catching Vincent's attention across the breakfast bar. "Give the chef my compliments," she said._

_"The chef would like more than your compliments," Vincent said, giving her a side long glance, his innuendo obvious. _

_Catherine felt a blush climb up her neck. God, the man could still turn her into a puddle, even after six years of marriage._

_"That might be an option," she winked back at him. "But before anything I want to see the other man in my life."_

_"Remember, he's asleep."_

_"I won't wake him. I just want to look at him. Help me up?" Catherine said._

_Vincent walked over and pulled Catherine up from the couch. She waddled - she couldn't even walk normally anymore - to their son's room, slowly opened the door and quietly stepped in. The room's light blue walls were covered with pictures of cartoon animals and trucks and jet planes and all of the things intriguing to little boys. Tommy lay in his bed. Unruly dark hair like his father covered his head, while dimpled cheeks and almond shaped eyes mirrored his mother. He breathed in and out slowly, his small chest rising and falling. Every now and then he let out a soft mewling. Catherine's throat tightened and the same overwhelming gratitude and fierce feeling of protection surged through her. He was an absolute miracle. _

_Vincent whispered in her right ear," he's beautiful, like his mother."_

_Catherine keep her gaze on her son but reached her right arm up and back, grabbing the nape of Vincent's neck pulling has face into her cheek. "When I look at him, everything makes sense," she said. "Everything we've been through. All the battles, all the pain, all the suffering."_

_"Catherine …," Vincent's voice choked off as he took a shuddering breath. "Catherine, I don't know how to tell you what I feel. For you to risk everything to love me - to build a family with me - I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you."_

_Catherine turned, looking up at her husband and was surprised to see tears streaming down his face. Her heart swelled and her love for him flowed out and around them, engulfing them, protecting them. "If you ever receive what you deserve, Vincent, it will be much more than I could ever give you. You're the most selfless, caring, loving person I've ever known."_

_"Who could want more than perfection?" he whispered. "Your perfect. He's perfect. And she's perfect," he said rubbing his palm slowly over Catherine's belly._

_Catherine melted into his arms, pulling her head into his chest and pushing into his embrace as much as her pregnant body would allow. _

_After awhile she let out a sigh. "I'm tired again. Take me to the living room. I'll nap on the couch."_

_Vincent slowly picked her up, walked to the living room and laid her on the couch, covering her with the afghan. _

_"Will you stay here while I sleep?" Catherine said. "I just don't want to be apart." _

_Vincent nodded. "I've got things to read. I might even catch a few winks."_

_Catherine patted the end of the couch. "Come, sit here. I want to use you as a pillow."_

_Vincent grabbed a book and sank down onto the couch. Catherine scooted over to him, laying her head on his thigh, stretching her legs out along the rest of the couch. She let out a sigh, a feeling of peace and contentment washing over her as she drifted off to sleep._

Consciousness slowly crept up on Catherine. She felt the soft denim of Vincent's jeans under her cheek, the warm afghan covering her body. Vincent's breathing was slow and steady. She smiled to herself. He was asleep. Good, he needed rest.

She stretched tentatively, being careful to avoid aggravating her sore lower back. It felt better, not painful. She reached down to caress her belly and her daughter within. As her hand reached her abdomen she froze. Panic rushed through her like fiery pinpricks stinging every inch of her skin. Her body involuntarily sucked in a shuddering breath and her eyes snapped open. She looked down at her afghan covered body. There was no outline of her pregnant belly. The baby, it was gone.

Tears erupted as overwhelming grief engulfed her. She'd lost the baby. Frantically she whipped back the quilt, looking for a bloody nightgown, for her damaged body, for evidence of her failure to care for her unborn child and bring it into the world. Nothing. Just jeans and a t-shirt.

Her mind whirled. She'd been dreaming. Dreaming about when she'd been pregnant. It must have been a while since she had lost the baby. She just couldn't remember when, but she knew she had, the grief and sadness could come from nothing else.

Tommy, she thought. I need to get to my baby. I need to make sure he's okay.

As she scrambled to rise from the couch Vincent began to wake up. Groggily he said, "Catherine, what's wrong?"

"The babies," she said, her thoughts confused. "Vincent, the babies …"

Catherine bolted down the hall and threw open the door revealing the guest room with white walls, an empty bed and storage boxes stacked against the wall. But no little boy lie sleeping in a child's bed. Dropping to her knees she began to sob. It was all a dream. All of it. But the grief that raked across her insides and the sadness that clamped down on her heart like a vice were very, very real.

As she wailed into her hands she felt Vincent kneel behind her and wrap her in his strong arms. Her body shook with racking sobs that forced their way up her throat against her will. How could something that wasn't real hurt so much? How could a simple dream manifest more pain than she had ever felt before? Catherine collapsed backward into Vincent's embrace and gave into the oppressive agony, letting it flow from her body as she weeped.

Dimly, through the haze of her emotional pain, Catherine felt Vincent pick her up, pulling her tightly to his chest. The next thing she knew he was laying her down on her bed, crawling up on the bed beside her and pulling her trembling body into him, wrapping his arms around her. She stayed like that for a long while, sobbing into his chest, struggling for air between shuddering gasps. Vincent held her, never letting go, surrounding her with his love and strength. Eventually her body exhausted itself, her sobs faded away and her trembling subsided. She forced herself to breath slowly and deeply, finding her emotional footing again. She pulled her head back and looked up into Vincent's eyes.

"I can't believe how much I love you," she said, knowing he could see the appreciation in her eyes. Then she buried her head back into his chest.

Vincent hugged her tighter and said, "You want to talk about it?"

She nodded into his chest, then slowly pulled her body up on the bed, adjusting her back against the headboard so she could sit up. He did the same and circled his arms around her again. She leaned into his side.

After a few moments Catherine took in a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. "It was a dream," she said.

"A nightmare?" he asked.

"No, not a nightmare," she said. "It was a beautiful dream. When I woke up, that's when I panicked."

"Tell me more," he said gently.

"It was wonderful," she said. "It was about our life - together - married."

"Really?" he said, surprised.

"Uh huh. And there's more."

"Like what?"

"Kids," she said, turning to look up at him. As his mouth turned up into a beaming smile she felt the familiar warmth of her love for him. "A little boy and … a girl, on the way."

"You were pregnant?" he said, his eyes huge.

Catherine smiled and nodded. And with that she burrowed back into his chest and recounted everything she had experienced in her dream. When Catherine came to the part where she woke and panicked Vincent nodded his head, now fully understanding what he had witnessed earlier. He pulled her tighter into him, kissed the top of her head and nuzzled his nose into her hair. Catherine felt her body calm and her muscles relax as she let herself sink into Vincent's protective embrace. When she finished her story they sat, silent, for a long while, holding onto each other.

After a while Catherine said, "well, what do you think?"

"I think I'm never going to give up," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Together, we can do anything," Vincent said. "I'm never going to give up on the possibility of the two of us having our own biological children." He let out a deep sigh. "It may not happen, and that would be okay. We'll still be able to have a family and raise beautiful, wonderful kids. But I'm not giving up hope."

Catherine mirrored his sigh, feeling calm and content. "Me neither," she said.

A comfortable silence fell over them. Vincent's arms around her was all Catherine needed in that moment. After a while Vincent broke the silence.

"There was one part of your dream I really liked." he said.

"What's that?" Catherine asked.

"The hormone part."

Catherine pulled her head back and looked up at him. "You are such a horn-dog."

"Can you blame me?" Vincent said as he scooted down the bed to lay on his back and pulled Catherine to lay on top of him.

"God I love you," she whispered.

Vincent put his hand gently on the nape of her neck and guided her lips to his.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for your reviews and comments. Your support means a lot - and it seems to have fired-up my muse for this story, resulting in the posting of this chapter just a day after the previous one. I have a sense of direction now and anticipate several more chapters. The challenge now is finding time to write. But I will stick with it. It's important for Catherine and Vincent to eventually find resolution.**

* * *

_**Progeny**_

_**Chapter 4**_

Vincent lifted the paper cup to his mouth and tilted his head back, draining it empty. He rarely drank more than two cups of coffee a day, but this was already his third and it was only noon. He looked at his surroundings, not sure of his location after walking aimlessly for the last five hours while his thoughts had assailed his mind nonstop. In times like this he envied Catherine, and JT, and everyone else who had a regular job, like he used to. Working in the ER had always taken his mind off his troubles as he focused on helping those in need. For the last ten years he'd suffered with his unrelenting thoughts day in and day out. And today they hurt, a lot.

Catherine had been tired this Monday morning as she dressed and went to work, still recovering from the exhausting emotional trauma caused by her dream the day before. He'd asked her to call in sick and rest, but ever the dutiful cop and partner, she sucked-it-up and went into the precinct. As much as he wanted her to rest and relax, he knew she'd be okay. Her mind, body and spirt were stronger than anyone he had ever met. Her strength was one thing he admired the most about her. No, not admired - needed. He needed her strength. It had kept him alive. It was keeping him alive. He didn't often admit it to himself - and he really hadn't admitted it to Catherine - but more often than not it was her inner strength that sustained him, rather than vice versa.

Walking down another block he found himself at the entrance to a park with a children's play area, a gazebo, flower beds with fresh summer blooms and benches that catered to the weary and the worried. He fit both categories today, so he sat and thought.

He'd rolled everything over in his mind this morning, recalling Catherine's struggle over the past several days with her feelings about the two of them having a family and children. She understood more than anyone the reality that for her to conceive his child wasn't possible, for the child's sake. But the agonizing grief he had seen on her face and felt in her trembling body as he held her the day before - when she had dreamed of a life together with him, having his children, building a family with him, and then waking to realize it wasn't so - tore like sharp claws across his heart.

He could never have his own biological children.

But Catherine could.

She loved him, he knew that. And he loved her, more than life itself. How could he ask her to give up something so important, so fundamental, to be with him? How could he be that selfish, that self-centered? Catherine wanted children, her own flesh and blood. She would have beautiful children, both in body and spirit. And she would be a wonderful mother - loving, nurturing, protective. How could he deprive her of that? If he loved her - truly loved her - and wanted her happiness and fulfillment above all else, he should release her from the burden of loving him. That's what he should do.

But he wasn't that strong.

Shame of his weakness tightened his chest, making it hard to breathe. Guilt stabbed at his heart that he should so badly hurt the one he loved most in the world.

He looked up into the sky, wondering if beyond the wisps of white clouds there was some type of higher power in the universe, some type of balance between good and evil. If there was then the things he had done in his beast form, even though out of his control, must surely be beyond repentance. He had tried so hard to be a good person. To do the right thing. To serve his country. To protect others. Yet it must be that the debt incurred by his beast was unforgivable because no matter how hard he tried, everything conspired against him - against them.

As his mind and emotions spun in turmoil something bumped his foot, bringing him out of his reverie. Looking down he saw a child's rubber ball bounce off his feet and ricochet toward the street. With his attention back to the present he heard the anxious cry of a woman calling out, "Peter, stop. Peter, come back to mommy. Peter, come back!"

Vincent looked up and saw a little boy running, full-tilt, his eyes zeroed-in on the rubber ball. He was on a course straight toward the busy street and his mother wouldn't reach in him time to stop him from running out into traffic after his ball. Vincent shot up from the bench and within a few steps he reached the child and scooped him up in his arms. "Hey Pete, slow down there buddy," Vincent said as he dashed another half dozen steps and stopped the ball just as it reached the sidewalk, picking it up with his other hand. He handed the ball to the child. "There you go, buddy. You know, you shouldn't run away from your mommy like that."

Peter looked to be about four with blond hair and a bright smile. Wearing miniature blue cargo pants, a blue t-shirt and tiny athletic shoes that fastened with a velcro clasp, he was a typical rambunctious little boy. Peter was elated that Vincent had retrieved his ball and as Vincent hefted him with one hand to his right hip the little boy reached up and touched the long, jagged scar on Vincent's face.

"What happened?" Peter asked in his little boy's voice, his eyes wide as he ran his finger down the length of Vincent's scar. "Did you fall down?"

Vincent smiled at the child's innocent curiosity about his scar which had turned many an adult away in fear. "Yeah, I fell down and hurt myself."

"Where?" Peter asked. "On the swing set?"

Vincent chuckled. "No, not on the swing set. It was a place called Afghanistan, a long way from here."

"Did it hurt?"

"At first it hurt. But it got better."

Vincent turned to find Peter's mother standing a half dozen feet away, staring at him. Suddenly he realized he was a stranger, holding onto her four year old son in the middle of New York City. He cleared his throat. "Oh, uh, hello. I'm …, ah …, I'm sorry. I'm not a pervert or anything," he added quickly. "Here you go," he said, handing Peter to his mother.

She was about Vincent's age, tall and slender with long black hair the shone under the sun. Definitely attractive. As he pulled away after handing off her son he caught her expression. She didn't looked worried or frightened of him. Instead she looked relieved and grateful.

"Thank you so much," she said. "I don't know what happened. One second he was there and the next he was running away after his ball. I was scared out of my mind. If you hadn't stopped him …," she took in a hard breath.

"No problem," Vincent said. He couldn't think of anything else to say and an uncomfortable silence fell between them. Finally Vincent nodded at the woman and said, "Well, have a nice day. Bye, Peter." He turned and started to step away.

"You served?" the woman said hastily.

Vincent turned and caught the earnestness in her eyes, uncertain and pleading.

"Yeah," he said.

"When you mentioned Afghanistan I figured that was the case," she said. "What branch?"

"Army. Rangers," he said.

"My husband was in the Corp. Three tours in Iraq," she said.

"Jarhead, huh?" Vincent chuckled. "They're tough buggers."

The woman's face grew sad. She dipped her head down and said softly, "Not tough enough."

Instantly her meaning was clear. He had lost enough friends in the war to know her husband hadn't made it back. Sadness for her gripped his heart. For such a lovely woman and beautiful son to loose a husband and father was a crime against life itself.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She nodded. She looked up at her son and the smile returned to her face. She turned to Vincent. "I'm Tessa. Tessa Downs." She extended her hand and Vincent took it.

"Vincent," he said.

"Thank you again, Vincent. You're family's very lucky. You have a way with kids."

Surprise caught him off guard and before he could censor himself he said, "What makes you say that?"

"I heard you taking to Peter about your scar. You didn't talk down to him. You didn't try to make it anything other than what it is. Kids - even little kids - they know when we're not telling them the truth. I think subconsciously they know who to trust and who not to."

"I hung around my nephews a lot as they grew up. I kinda get the 'guy' thing," he chuckled.

Tessa looked at him confused. "You don't have kids of your own?"

"Ah …, no. No I don't," he said. He saw her glance at his left hand, most likely looking at his bare ring finger given the direction the conversation was heading.

"Not married, then?" she said, her eyes were hopeful.

Vincent heard her heart rate speed-up, saw the flush in her face and smelled the pheromones her body released into the air. His own face started to warm, a blush rising to the surface.

For an instant time slowed to a crawl, moving past him like a slow gelatinous mass of sound and texture. His mind raced, considering the myriad of possibilities the universe might present. Tessa was a beautiful woman, with a beautiful child, who didn't deserve the pain and heartache of loosing a husband and father. Could he find love with a woman other than Catherine - someone like Tessa? Could he care for and nurture a child like Peter who needed a father? Taking that path would release Catherine from the burden of her love for him, allowing her to find love with someone who wasn't damaged, someone who was whole, who could give her a child of her own. If Catherine's happiness was more important to him than anything else, shouldn't he free her to pursue that happiness? Wasn't that the right thing to do? Shouldn't he be strong enough to make that choice? Yes, he should.

But he couldn't.

He wasn't strong enough. He never would be. And his weakness would cause Catherine pain for the rest of her life.

Time reclaimed it's control and Vincent shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts.

"No, not married," he said, answering Tessa's question. "But committed to someone."

"Oh," Tessa's shoulders dropped a little and disappointment ghosted across her face. "That's good. I bet you'll be a great father."

"Thank you," Vincent said.

Another uncomfortable silence fell between them and finally Vincent stuttered, "I ..., uh ..., I have to go. Good to meet you, Tessa." Turning toward Peter, Vincent reached out and softly tweaked his nose. "Bye bye, Peter. You take care of your mommy, okay?"

Peter waived enthusiastically and Vincent turned and walked away, not wanting to look back at Tessa's face, so lost and lonely.

As Vincent walked down the street every part of his body and mind felt raw, as if his skin and emotions and been peeled back and laid bare. His thoughts overflowed to the point he felt like he might explode. Confusion surged through him. Confusion that doing the right thing - loving Catherine - resulted in hurting her terribly. And that not loving her - leaving her - would free her to be happy. Anger roiled in him. Anger that he wasn't strong enough to let her go, to put her happiness and her future before his on selfishness.

His chest felt hollow, a bottomless pit that could never be filled. Every strangled breath was a struggle, every step a fight. A struggle not give in to the despair that blanketed his mind in a dark fog of hopelessness. A fight to will himself to keep moving, to keep breathing. So he walked … and walked … and walked. He walked until his mind went numb and his legs ached. He walked until he no longer knew where he was or even why he was there.

And still, he walked.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks again to everyone who has left a comment or review. It is so appreciated. In my wildest dreams I could not have imagined this story growing like it has. From my original two shot, I've now got a pretty solid story line that may expand it to about twelve chapters. Go figure. Thanks so much to those of you who urged me on at the beginning. It's just one example of what makes this community so amazing.**

* * *

_**Progeny**_

_**Chapter 5**_

Catherine blew out a frustrated breath and leaned on the horn, navigating her car through early evening traffic toward Vincent and JT's warehouse home. She'd been calling Vincent all day, but he hadn't picked up his burner phone.

Early in the day she'd been concerned, wondering about his safety. But it wasn't unusual for Vincent to turn his phone off and spend the day completely off the grid. And he certainly wasn't helpless. But why did he have to go dark today? Still emotionally shaky from the day before Cat had needed to hear his voice on the other end of the line, to know that he was there for her, that his commitment to her was real and not some misguided, long-term infatuation that might disappear now that they were talking about heavy-duty stuff like family and children. After all, it was just talk, just wishful thinking. Wasn't it?

As she crawled along through snarled traffic Catherine felt her frustration roil into a low anger. She knew her anger was irrational, that her emotional exhaustion from yesterday's experiences had drained her, making it hard to think straight about important things - like Vincent and their future. But dammit, at least he could have been thoughtful enough to call. Just once during the day. Just so she could have been calmed by his familiar, gravely voice. But instead he was off galavanting around doing …, doing whatever it was that he did everyday. Her hands clenched around the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white.

Thirty minutes later Catherine found herself climbing the warehouse stairs to the upper floor. Before she was halfway up she heard heavy breathing, the grunting of exertion and the _thwacks _and _thumps _which she easily recognized as someone working out with the heavy punching bag hanging from the ceiling - most likely Vincent since she'd never seen JT do anything to work-up a sweat. As she climbed slowly and listened she realized, from her own experience with a heavy bag, that the effort was extreme, frantic, almost manic. Such a pace would surely be exhausting. She crested the stairs and turned the corner, spying Vincent across the room pummeling the bag into submission.

Clad only in blue jeans his bare back glistened with a sheen of sweat. Lord the man was gorgeous. Tall and ripped with broad shoulders and a lean waist. He moved with cat-like grace, power rippling through muscles that bulged from exertion. Before she could stifle it a smoldering desire flared in her stomach, seeping down into her lower body. She forced it back and focused her gaze on Vincent.

His blows were devastating, fists and elbows and feet beating the inert bag as if his life depended on it. His breathing was heavy, his muscles straining, pushing, pulling. She knew he could hear her, that she was there. But he gave her no acknowledgement, continuing to assault the bag.

As Catherine came closer and saw his hands she stopped in her tracks, sucking in a breath. They were bloody. The bag was bloody, all over. Blood ran down his wrists, drops whipping away as he swung his arms at the bag. And still he continued his relentless onslaught.

Something was wrong.

Her chest tightened as panic being to rise. Something had hurt him - deep inside. She had seen this behavior a hundred times before with other lovers and male cops. The internalization of emotion and the inability to vent pent-up energy through anything less than self-destructive physical exertion. Whatever tormented Vincent in this moment, whatever tore at his insides and pulled him into this dark place, it must be excruciating.

Catherine's anger evaporated as she fought down the overwhelming instinct screaming inside her to stop him, to pull him aside, to make him talk to her, to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything would be okay. She knew from experience with the many men in her life that such a reaction wouldn't help Vincent open up to her, but instead, would probably drive him further inside himself. And he was obviously not ready to talk because he knew she was standing not ten feet behind him. But he needed her, that was obvious. And she needed to be here for him.

Catherine racked her brain for a way to connect with Vincent, a way she could join him in this moment and allow it to continue to be his moment, not hers. As she watched Vincent assault the bag she realized what she should do. Stepping slowly around to the far side she faced him, looking at him intently. He never caught her eyes, his focus completely on the target in front of him. She stepped up to the bag, grabbed it and leaned into it, steadying it with her weight to allow him more solid contact, just as any workout partner would do.

His blows intensified, his labored breathing spiked. Blood from his mangled knuckles flew everywhere, drops splattering in her face. Still, she held the bag, leaning into the anger and fear released through the power of his fists and feet. His pace increased. Blows rained down faster and faster. He lungs gasped for air. He grunted and winced at the pain she knew must be the cost of every blow. His strikes grew more frantic, more wild, more savage. She saw the smoldering, golden glow in his eyes. Saw him fighting against his beast. She thought he would explode.

Suddenly, with one last blow he collapsed to his knees, arms hanging to his sides, head dropped down, chest heaving as sweat poured from his face and dripped to the floor.

Catherine released the bag, slowly stepped around and kneeled beside Vincent. Gingerly she took a hand in both of hers, lifting his limp arm to bring the bloodied fist to her mouth, kissing it lightly, tasting the coppery tang of blood on her lips. He didn't look up, still panting for breath.

She held his hand for a long, silent moment, then slowly released it back to his side. Reaching up she gently grasped the back of his neck, nudging his head down and toward her. At first he resisted, but she kept up the insistent pressure and finally he turned his head and allowed her to bring it to her shoulder. His labored breath blew across her chest. She could hear his heart pounding, feel his surging pulse in her hand as she supported his neck against her.

Slowly she slid back and to the side, moving off her knees to a sitting position. She pulled Vincent with her so he was laying on the floor next to her, his head cradled in her lap, his face looking out in front of them. She caressed his head slowly, gently, pouring all the love she could into her touch, assuring him he was safe.

Vincent's breathing calmed and his heart slowed. He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes. Catherine continued to stroke his head and face for a long time.

"I love you," he finally whispered, his eyes still closed.

"I know," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"For making you love me."

"I'm not sorry," she whispered back. "You haven't _made_ me do anything. I _get_ to love you. It's a gift."

Vincent let out another deep sigh and Catherine felt his body begin to relax into her. She stilled her mind and body, keeping herself in the present for Vincent, something she had taught him about supporting her. She thought of yesterday and how Vincent's unwavering love and commitment had pulled her through her emotional hell. Now it was her turn to be there for him. She smiled to herself. They were different sides of the same coin, destined to be together. Her chest swelled with her love for him.

"I want you to be happy," Vincent said.

"You make me happy."

"I mean I want your life to be happy, to be fulfilled."

Catherine nodded to herself. Now she had an idea of why Vincent was on the verge of self-destruction. What the _guy_ in him couldn't come out and say.

"This is about having a child, isn't it?" she said. "About having _our_ child."

Vincent nodded against her hand.

"And you're beating yourself up because I can't have my own baby," she said.

"You _can_ have your own baby," he said.

It took a moment for Catherine to comprehend his meaning. She stared off into the room. "Oh," she said quietly. "I just can't have _our_ baby."

Vincent opened his eyes and looked up at her, saying nothing. For a long beat, silence echoed off the walls of the cavernous room.

Catherine brought her eyes to his, leaned down and kissed his forehead. "So that's why you've been off the grid all day. That's why you did this," she said softly, holding up one of his bloodied hands. "You feel guilty because we can't conceive a child together."

Vincent shook his head. "No," he said.

His answer confused her and when she saw tears pooling in his eyes the panic she had pushed back earlier surged forward. She leaned down, caressing his face. "I don't understand," she said. "Tell me."

Vincent closed his eyes at her touch. "I feel … ashamed."

Still confused, Catherine's panic became more insistent. It took a force of will to hold it at bay and stay present with Vincent. As far as she was concerned Vincent had nothing to be ashamed of, certainly not about what Muirfield had done to him, ruining any chance he had to father his own child.

But whether or not he should feel shameful, it was a obvious he did. It was written all over his face. Telling him he shouldn't feel that way wasn't going to help. She needed to accept his feelings, sit with him and help him work through whatever demons tortured him.

Catherine continued to stroke Vincent's face. "What are you ashamed of?" she asked.

Vincent swallowed, his voice choked and shaky. "I'm ashamed that … that I'm weak."

Catherine's heart ached at the pain in his voice. Her throat grew tight and she had to force out her words, "Why are you weak?"

"Because I'm not strong enough to go on without you. If I could let you go …, if you could live your own life and find someone else to love, to have a family with …," his voice trailed off.

In a heartbeat the panic vibrating in Catherine's body flared into a fierce protectiveness of what was hers. He was hers. Their relationship was hers. She would let nothing jeopardize that, not even Vincent and his misguided belief that if he really loved her - and for her to be truly happy - he would have to let her go. That wasn't the love she needed. She had what she needed. Right here, right now. In her arms. And it was him.

"You are not going to leave me, Vincent Keller," she ground out, gripping his head in both hands.

"I know," he said. "That's the problem. I can't. I'm not strong enough."

"No," she said, staring at him intensely, "that's not why. You are not going to leave me because I won't let you."

"Catherine-"

"Do you really believe that you're weak if you stay with me and strong if you leave?" she asked, incredulously. Her eyes bored into his, her voice hard with resolution, "You're wrong!"

"You're the strongest person I've ever known," she continued. "You prove that to me every day because every day you continue to love me." She took in a breath and pushed it out hard. "You want to know what weak is? Weak is running when things get tough. The reality that we can't have our own children is tough. But it's our reality. Don't even think for a second that I would change anything we have or ever will have."

"You can't know that," Vincent protested.

"Yes, I can," Catherine said defiantly. "What Muirfield did to you was horrible, right?"

Vincent looked confused but nodded.

"And everything that you've done over the past decade has been because of Muirfield. All the lives you've saved, all the people you've helped. All set into motion because of Muirfield. But at an unforgivable cost to you."

"So?" Vincent said.

"So, knowing what you know now - having gone through everything over the past ten years - if you could go back and change your decision to volunteer for that experiment, would you?"

"No," Vincent said. "Those were the cards I was dealt. And if I hadn't gone down that road I never would have found you."

"But things would have been so much easier," she said.

"We don't know that," Vincent said.

At his words triumph shot through Catherine like fireworks and she felt her mouth turn up into a smile, knowing she'd found the weakness in his thinking and had brought if forward in the way he would understand. Now she needed to drive her point home.

"Well, which is Keller? You can't have it both ways. Either you need to leave because you're sure my life will be better, or you need to stay because we can't know what will happen."

Vincent blinked and she saw the realization of her truth register slowly on his face.

"You want to know what strength is?" she ground out. "Strength is just showing up. Day after day. Taking each day as it comes. Willing to face the hard times and being thankful for the good times. Being grateful for what life gives us, not regretful for what we don't have."

Tears pooled in her eyes and she swiped at them with a frustrating huff. "Dammit. I'm tired of crying."

"Catherine," Vincent said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you".

Catherine let out a sputtering laugh at his misunderstanding. "I'm not crying because I'm sad. I crying because I'm mad. I'm madder than hell that you or anyone else would try to take you from me and I will fight for you - for us - until my last breath. Even if that means I have to fight you."

She took in another deep breath, her voice strong, her power resonating through the room. "I will _not_ give you up. Not for anything. And if you want to do the right thing, the thing that takes the most courage and strength, then love me and never let me go. We'll figure out the rest - together."

Still holding his head in both hands Catherine crashed her lips into his, claiming him as hers, leaving no doubt that everything she had said was the truth and that he would have to go through her to do anything that might harm them. When he met her lips with the same fervor her heart soared. He was back. He was hers. And she would never let anything change that.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This chapter will start to move away from the show's cannon and forward into a slightly altered reality. No significant changes, just some differences in timing, logistics, etc., to help move the story forward to it's eventual completion.**

* * *

**_Progeny_**

**_Chapter 6_**

Catherine sat in her living room wrapped in her favorite robe, a steaming cup of tea in her hand, trying to muster the courage to dive into the huge pile of mail sitting on her desk which she had ignored for months. She let out a pitiful groan. Of all days to tackle the deluge of mail it would have to be one where she was getting sick.

Glancing out her apartment window she noticed the gentle flakes of the first December snow drifting down from a gray sky. The cold weather and the stress and exhaustion of working the past three weeks all day and most of every night on a murder case had finally caught up with her - giving the flu bug an open invitation to set-up shop in her body. Well, at least this morning she was home, warm and safe. The only other thing she needed to make the day better was Vincent.

He hadn't stayed the night before and her sleep had been fitful. Waking up with his warm body spooned around her and his rhythmic breath of sleep brushing across her neck was heaven. When she woke alone a feeling of emptiness - of being not quite whole - gnawed at her. She missed him, even if they were apart only for a day.

Catherine smiled to herself and sipped her tea, thinking how their feelings for each other had grown over the past half-year. He was a part of her now, ingrained in her soul, pulsing through every cell in her body. Love had taken on a new meaning for her, evolving further than she had known possible. As each day and week and month passed she found herself astounded at the depth and intensity of her feelings for Vincent. Feelings of love, of need, of commitment she never felt before, that she never thought she could experience. And still, everyday with Vincent took her further into a love that continued to reshape the very core of her being.

She remembered one of the turning points in their relationship, back in the early summer when they had bared their souls to each other about family and children. How each of them had struggled in their own way with the grief and loss that - because of what Muirfield did to him - Vincent and she could never conceive a child together. She remembered the stabbing pain in her heart and how Vincent had protected her, healed her. She, in turn, had come to him as he drowned in his sorrow and loss, pulling him back from the brink, pulling him back to her. Sealed together from that experience she had known - finally and for certain - that his love for her would never waver and she had surrendered her soul to their relationship once and for all.

A warm tingle of anticipation prickled her skin realizing that later in the day he would be here, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her with those luscious lips, grinding his needy hips into hers. The tingle pooled into a glowing warmth between her thighs and she felt her face heat with a flush of desire.

But enough of day dreaming about Vincent. First priority was to get through this pile of mail. She had let it stack up for the past two months, her work barely giving her enough time to eat, sleep and be with Vincent. She had divided the mail into three piles. One for bills, which she always checked weekly to make sure they were paid. The two other piles - junk to be tossed and stuff she needed to read but wasn't urgent - were huge. After a quick scan of the junk pile she tossed the envelopes into her recycling bin and hunkered down to plow through the stack needing her attention.

An hour passed and Catherine was nearing the bottom of her 'to read' pile. She felt relieved the torturous task was almost complete. She opened another envelope and reviewed a notice from her health care provider. It was a standard form letter dated two months prior reminding her about something-or-other she needed to attend to. As she scanned down the page her eyes froze on the words before her. Her breath caught and her chest felt like a vice had clamped around her lungs refusing to let her breathe. Nausea roiled in her stomach.

The notice was, indeed, a reminder. A reminder that she was due for a normal, periodic, follow-up procedure needing to be completed within two weeks from the date of the letter. Meaning that since the letter was two months old she was already six weeks past the deadline. And given that she and Vincent reveled in their sexual compatibility when ever they could, the fact that she had missed updating her birth control shot meant there was a very real possibility she was pregnant.

Catherine cursed herself as her mind spun frantically. She had completely forgotten and her inattentiveness to her mail had sabotaged her only failsafe. Her life had been a whirlwind the past six months with work more demanding than ever, the need for constant vigilance to protect Vincent and the glorious exhilaration of her deepening relationship with him.

A myriad of emotions careened wildly inside her, like steel marbles in a pinball machine, bouncing off the walls and corners of her mind and crashing into each other only to go shooting off in another direction.

Fear clamped down tighter on her chest. What would Vincent think? That she had manipulated him, tricked him? No. He knew her better than that. But he would have every right to be furious at her irresponsibility, not just toward them, but toward their unborn child. Was this the unforgivable sin, the one thing their relationship might not survive? Catherine felt a chill spread deep in her bones and the tea-cup shook in her trembling hands. She pulled her robe tighter.

Guilt followed close on fear's heels squeezing her stomach hard causing another wave of nausea which she fought back. She had let Vincent down. They had talked about birth control. He had even offered to get a vasectomy. But for some reason she felt the operation would strip away another piece of Vincent's humanity and couldn't bring herself to let him. So she convinced him to let her take responsibility and continue her contraception shots. And now she had completely and totally failed his trust.

As her emotions whirled she was surprised when she identified another feeling lurking in the back of her mind. It took some effort to isolate it - to understand it. Along with her fear she felt - excited. Happy. Even though she knew she and Vincent should not conceive a child - that to do so would put the child in jeopardy - she couldn't deny the joy vibrating inside her that she could be pregnant with Vincent's child's. With _their_ child.

As reality settled back onto Catherine like a dark, heavy fog her thoughts refocused on her predicament. And her old nemesis, panic, demanded to join the party. Her hands grew clammy and started to fidget. She couldn't just sit there. She had to do something. But what?

Catherine took in a breath and focused on controlling of her panic and calming herself. Jumping to the worst case scenario now was ridiculous. She didn't even know if she was pregnant. Her bout of nausea this morning was probably what she thought - the flu. She hadn't been sick until this morning so the odds she was pregnant didn't add up. Also, over the past several months Vincent and JT's research had turned up information which suggested Vincent's mutated DNA would make it almost impossible for his sperm to successfully fertilize an egg. She just needed to calm down and think rationally.

Except she couldn't.

Action. She needed to take action. Dressing quickly she bundled up in her coat, scarf, hat and gloves and sprinted the four blocks to the nearest pharmacy through the spitting snow. Pregnancy test kit in hand she trundled back to her apartment, closed the door and collapsed in a chair at her dining table.

Catherine stared at the box sitting on the table, terrified to touch it, as if opening it might release Pandora's curse. It felt like the box was staring back at her, judging her, mocking her, daring her to open it. Challenging her to do what must be done. She sat for a long while, bracing herself for the pain she knew would come. Guilt and fear if she was pregnant. Sorrow and grief if she wasn't. There was no best case scenario here, no easy way out. She shook her head. How had she gotten herself into this mess?

Catherine sat up straight, squared her shoulders, sucked in a breath and steeled her resolve. She could do this. She had to do this. Grabbing the box she walked to the bathroom, peed on the test stick and set her stop watch for two minutes.

Time slowed to an excruciating crawl. Her entire life flashed through her mind. If that wasn't enough, every moment with Vincent - every emotion, every dream, every desire - seemed to meld into one gigantic tapestry permeating her thoughts and emotions, delving down to the cellular level. Her entire existence up to now all came down to the numbers counting down on her stopwatch. And when it reached zero, everything would change.

The buzz of her watch jolted her back to real-time and she jerked her head down to look at the test stick in her trembling hand. She sucked in a sharp breath as tears pooled in her eyes. Agony engulfed her, pressing down with an unrelenting weight, making it hard to breath, or move, or cry.

Right now, more than ever before, she needed Vincent.

.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you all again for your reviews and comments. **

* * *

_**Progeny**_

_**Chapter 7**_

Vincent crashed through Catherine's door, eyes frantically searching the apartment for her. When he'd answered her phone call the tension and fear in Catherine's voice immediately told him something was seriously wrong. But she refused to explain over the phone, able only to choke out that she needed him. Her call sent fear ripping through him like wildfire and he had dropped everything, making it to her apartment in record time.

Catherine walked toward him, plowing her head into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, squeezing hard. Vincent brought his arms down and around her shoulders, pulling her into him. His heart raced and worry pulsed through him about what burdened her so terribly.

"Catherine," he said, "what's wrong?"

"I …," she sputtered, "I …," but she couldn't speak and buried her head deeper into his chest.

"Whatever it is, it'll be okay," he said softly, nuzzling his nose into her hair, caressing her head with his hand.

"It just hurts …, so bad," she said and pulled in a quick breath.

Concern crowded his mind and he reached down, taking Catherine's chin in his hand and gently tilted her head up toward him. He could see the pain shimmering behind her green eyes. "What hurts?" he said, his voice almost inaudible.

"Vincent, I love you, so much. More than anyone or anything," Catherine said, her words coming faster. "I want you to know that. I need you to know that. I would never do anything intentionally to hurt you. You have to believe me."

Confusion and fear made his mind spin. She'd done something. Something that terrified her, riddled her with guilt. But that didn't matter. In this moment all he wanted was for her trembling body to calm and for her pain to go away. "I know you love me. I believe you. Tell me what's going on. Let me help."

Tears erupted from her eyes as she averted them to the floor, shaking her head with a finality that frightened him. "I messed up," she said. "I messed up really bad." She drew in a shuddering breath. "God, I am so sorry."

He gripped her shoulders with both hands, gently pulling her around to look at him again. "Catherine," he said, his voice firmer now, "it's alright. Tell me what's wrong."

He felt her entire body tense in his arms as she struggled to speak. "I'm …, pregnant."

Shock shot through Vincent like a lightening bolt, every nerve on fire. He stared at her, dumbfounded, unable to think, unable to speak, unable to move. Had he heard her correctly or was his fear playing tricks on his mind? She was standing in his arms, his face only inches from hers. Yes, he'd heard her clearly. Catherine, the love of his life, had just told him she was pregnant.

Vincent stood paralyzed, his pulse pounding in his ears. Then his hands dropped from her shoulders and his gaze lifting, staring blankly across the room. Scenario after scenario cascaded through his mind. Thoughts of Murifield trying to steal their child to experiment on like a lab rat. Horrific visualizations of their young child's face morphing into a beast. Glimpses of Catherine and him fighting off unknown attackers seeking to control Vincent and their child, or destroying all three of them if they proved uncontrollable. The two of them struggling to make financial ends meet with a newborn baby, given that he couldn't work without putting them all at risk.

Dimly in the background he heard a voice. "Vincent?" Then again, louder. "Vincent!" It was Catherine.

He shook his head to clear it from the deluge of future possibilities and looked down at her.

"Did you hear me?" she said. "Do you understand?"

He nodded slowly, his arms and legs tingling as if they had been asleep. His mind began to clear and his body calmed. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and slowly drew another one.

A long silence fell between them. He could feel his heart pumping in his chest. He could hear Catherine's breathing, shallow and labored. But he didn't have a clue what to say.

Eventually Catherine said, "Please, say something."

His mind was so overwhelmed all he could muster was, "Wow!"

Catherine stifled a sound between a laugh and a groan. "Not what I expected. But it'll do." She stepped back and took his hand, leading him toward the couch. "We need to talk."

They sat facing each other, Catherine holding both of Vincent's hands in hers. "I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for this to happen. I forget to update my _Depo_ shot. I really messed everything up. This is all my fault." She paused, drawing in several deep breaths trying to calm herself.

Vincent looked at her as she spoke. His eyes traced the contours of her face, the smooth almond shape of her eyes, the cleft below her pert nose sitting on top of full lips. She was more beautiful than any mythical goddess, more rare than the most precious gem. The beauty of any child of hers would bring the world to it's knees in awe. When that child arrived it would be a gift to the universe.

_When that child arrives,_ Vincent thought. Not _if_, but _when._

His mind flashed back to every thought he had in the past several minutes since Catherine told him she was pregnant. He smiled at his revelation. Not one single time - even for an instant - had he considered any option other than how to care and protect and nurture Catherine and _their_ child. There was no other possibility.

Catherine blew out a breath. "I know birth control was my job. This is all on me - it's my responsibility."

Vincent smiled and squeezed her hand. "I'm not gonna let you take all the credit."

Catherine opened her mouth in protest, "But it's my fau-" she cut herself off in mid-sentence, her eyes squinting in confusion. "Wait. Ahh … What?"

Vincent let out a soft chuckle. "I said I'm not gonna let you hog all the glory. We split this one down the middle, fifty-fifty. Everyone will be able to tell I contributed half on this deal. The good looks and brains will surely come from you. Stubbornness and attitude - that'll more likely be my contribution."

Slowly Catherine's eyes opened wide, shimmering with tears as she deciphered his meaning, the hint of a hesitant smile on her trembling lips. "I didn't even finish what I was gonna say," she pushed out. "I didn't even ask you if you wanted to keep the baby."

"You don't need to," he said.

Catherine pushed Vincent back down into the couch and jumped on top of him, kissing him long and hard. Eventually she pulled back and propped herself up on his chest gazing down into his eyes.

"When I realized I wanted to keep our baby - realized what a miracle this is - I was so scared you wouldn't. But you said _yes_ and I didn't even have to ask you." She brought her hand up and brushed his cheek, settling it against his neck. "You are so amazing. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you."

They laid together for a long time. Vincent snaked his arms around her and Catherine rested her head against his chest. He drew in her scent, filling his nostrils with fruit and jasmine and her unmistakeable musk. Her soft hair brushed against his nose and mouth. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her hips snugged in tight against the curve of his waist. He let out a contented sigh. They fit together, perfectly.

After a while Catherine pushed further into his embrace. "I'm scared," she whispered.

Vincent's shoulders tensed and he tightened his protective grip around her. "What about?"

"About the baby's health. About your DNA and mine not working together, not being compatible."

"Me, too."

"What if something happens? What if there's a problem?"

Vincent tilted his face forward and kissed the top of her head. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I don't know what I'd do if something bad happened. I don't know if I'm strong enough," Catherine said, her voice a dry rasp.

"Do you remember what you told me about strength?" he said.

"Huh?"

"Last summer. When I bloodied myself up on the punching bag."

"I think so," she said.

"You told me that strength was just showing up. Taking things as they come."

"I remember," she said, nodding her head against his chest.

"Well, I'm game if you're game," he said.

Catherine lifted her upper body flattening her forearm on his chest, propping herself up. She looked down at him, her face serious. "I can't do this alone."

"You'll never have to do anything alone, Catherine. Not as long as I'm in your life. Not as long as you'll have me."

"You're so much a part of me I couldn't untangle myself from you if I wanted to. Even more so, now," she said, reaching down and patting her stomach.

"We'll do whatever it takes to take care of our baby. To make sure she's safe and healthy," he said.

"She?" Catherine said, raising her eyebrows.

"Of course," he said. "The universe would surely plan for our first child to be perfect. Nothing could be more perfect than a reflection of you."

"Geez, you can be such a romantic sap," Catherine said, giving him an eye-roll.

Vincent smiled, reaching up to gently push a strand of hair behind her ear. "Guilty as charged."

"And to think, all I had to do was get pregnant," she deadpanned.

Vincent looked up at her, quirking and eye, a suspicious look on his face. "You're sure it's mine?" he said.

Catherine's face flashed in horror and disbelief for an instant, but as she recognized his taunt her eyes narrowed followed by a knowing grin. She swatted his chest. "You can be such an ass, too," She snorted.

"That's me. And you love me for it," Vincent said.

Catherine laid her head back down on his chest, settling her body more comfortably on top of his. "Yes, I do," she whispered. "Yes, I do."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with this story. We still have a ways to go.**

* * *

_**Progeny**_

_**Chapter 8**_

Catherine walked into the OBGYN consultation room to find Vincent waiting, looking nervous as a cat, even though they had been through this same routine weekly for the last four weeks. Concerned about the health of the fetus, Catherine had insisted - against the doctor's protests - that for the time being the doctor check on the baby's development weekly. After each check-up the doctor met with she and Vincent and updated them on the baby's progress.

Today the doctor had seemed more quiet than normal, more focused. She had performed Catherine's examination, completing the blood work and finished the ultra-sound almost without a word. Catherine's shoulders ached from the tension and her stomach churned as her anxiety grew.

"How'd it go?" Vincent asked.

"Like it always goes," Catherine snapped. Regret filled her as soon as the words left her mouth, angry with herself for lashing out at Vincent in frustration.

Vincent nodded but said nothing.

I'm sorry," she said. "You didn't deserve that."

Vincent scooted his chair closer to hers, taking her hand into his and interlacing their fingers. "It'll be okay," he said.

She nodded. "Yeah. It will. As long as I have you."

"You do."

Catherine smiled at him and nodded, finding his deep green eyes and holding them. An overwhelming feeling of gratitude surged through her, that he should want her and love her.

The door opened and the doctor entered and sat behind her desk. "Mr. Chandler," the doctor said, acknowledging Vincent.

"Doc," he said in return.

To hide Vincent's identity for the time being they had presented themselves as a married couple with Catherine's last name, since her health care insurance was through her work and in her name.

"Catherine," the doctor said, turning her attention to Catherine, "I have some concerns."

Catherine tensed, her shoulders hurting even more, fear prickling her skin like tiny needles. Her hands grew clammy and sweat broke out on her back, trickling down her spine. No wonder the doctor had been quiet earlier. Vincent gave her hand a squeeze of reassurance.

"What's wrong?" Catherine asked.

"Nothing specific," the doctor said. "But for the seventh week since conception your enzyme levels and white blood cell count are off. Have you caught a cold or the flu in the last week?"

"No. I'm really being careful and I feel great."

"No infections, like from a cut or abrasion?" the doctor asked.

"No. Doctor, what is it."

"Like I said, maybe nothing. It's just that your immune system seems to be overly active. We'll keep on top of it." The doctor caught her eye. "I'm glad you insisted on weekly check-ups. Did you anticipate something like this?"

"No," Catherine said, "I didn't," which was the truth.

"Alright then," the doctor said. "We'll see you next week."

"Doctor," Vincent interjected, "is there anything we should do in the meantime?"

"No." Turning to Catherine she said, "Just keep doing whatever your doing. You're in excellent health and physical condition. That's the best thing you can do for your baby."

Catherine nodded. "Thank you, doctor. See you next week."

At her car in the clinic's parking lot Catherine and Vincent parted ways, she heading off to the precinct for work and he heading back to his and JT's new home in an abandoned gentleman's club.

Later at the precinct Catherine stared at the case file on her desk, not seeing the documents in front of her, lost in a morass of thought and emotion. An uneasy feeling had gnawed away at her all day making it hard to concentrate. She and Vincent had no idea how his mutated DNA might effect the fetus' development and the doctor's concern only piqued her fear about their baby's safety.

"You trying to memorize that file?" Tess said, her voice interrupting Catherine's trance.

Catherine snapped her head up and looked across the desk at her partner. "What?" she said, her mind still hazy.

"You've been staring at that page for ten minutes," Tess said.

Catherine looked down at the sheet in front of her, absently flipping it over. "Oh. Sorry. Just thinking."

"About what? Lover-boy?" Tess said.

Catherine kept her eyes on her desktop and shook her head, saying nothing.

"That's a first," Tess said, her voice mocking. "I mention Vincent and you don't bust out in a ga-ga, shit-eatin' grin."

Catherine forced a weak smile and closed the file. She hadn't told Tess about the baby, she couldn't. Tess knew about Vincent now and that was dangerous enough for her. But for Tess to know about the baby would put her in danger beyond anything she had considered when she had decided to keep Vincent's secret and help Catherine protect him. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of putting her friend at such risk and of keeping another secret from Tess.

"You okay, Cat?" Tess asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

Looking up Catherine nodded. "Yeah. Just feeling a little puny. Pretty tired."

"You look a little pale. Can I do anything?" Tess said.

"No. I'll be okay. I'm going down to the locker room. Wash my face. Take a break," Catherine said. "Back in fifteen."

Tess nodded as Catherine stood and walked out of the squad room.

The women's locker room was empty when she arrived. Catherine splashed cold water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror. Tess was right, she was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her stomach felt queasy, but that was probably due to the stress from the debriefing with the doctor earlier that morning.

Drying her face Catherine looked at the mirror again. "Suck it up, Chandler," she said to her reflection. "This is just another day."

Only it wasn't. She was in uncharted territory. She was pregnant, with a baby that might have mutated DNA, in love with a man who was no longer completely human, and hunted by a clandestine organization with no conscience which put everyone around her and Vincent in danger. Nope, this definitely was _not_ just another day.

Fighting back another twinge of nausea Catherine pasted on a smile, nodded to herself in the mirror and exited the locker room, stepping back into her world of cops and crime.

It was early evening when Catherine returned home to her apartment. Vincent was already there. He was already _home_. A soft, warm glow filled her breast at the thought those two words, _Vincent_ and _home. _They fit together perfectly. He'd prepared a simple meal of macaroni and cheese and tator-tots with chocolate chip mint ice cream for dessert - comfort food for the weary. Once again he amazed her at how he knew her so well. He was absolutely perfect for her.

After dinner they sat quietly on the couch, her leaning up against him as they both read and sipped tea. In short order Catherine couldn't keep her eyes open and Vincent literally carried her to the bedroom against her half-hearted protests. His arms were strong around her and halfway down the hall she relaxed into them, feeling protected and loved. Laying her head against his chest she breathed in his scent, the faint hint of sweat, his clean cotton shirt, his strong musk - all male. She sighed as he laid her down on the bed, half asleep already.

In a haze Catherine felt, more than watched, as Vincent slowly undressed her, his hands gliding softly over her body, preparing her for bed. Gently pulling her shirt over her head he reached down and unfastened her bra peeling it off her shoulders. He unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, pulling them off along with her panties in one motion. His touch was soft, nurturing, not sexual. He held a nightshirt over her and she reached her arms up and allowed him to slide it over her head.

She snuggled down under the covers watching him through hazy, half-asleep eyes as he stripped down to his boxers and crawled in bed next to her. His warmth drew up to her back and his arm draped across her waist. This was as close to perfect as she had ever come in her life and she smiled at the thought.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear. "Sleep well."

"I love you, too," she murmured. And moments later sleep claimed her.

Pain! Sharp, stabbing pain.

Catherine's eyes snapped open, her breathing hard and fast, her eyes darting around in panic. Another jolt of pain pierced through her gut, shooting burning sparks of fire down her spine and into her legs. She screamed, doubling over, clutching at her stomach through the tangle of bed sheets and comforter.

Vincent jerked awake beside her. In an instant he was leaning over her, hands clasping her arms, his face close to hers. "Catherine …," he said, his voice ragged with sleep and frantic with fear.

Still another surge of pain lanced through her. Bile burned in her throat and her vision blurred, darkness closing in around her. With all the will she could summon she fought off the darkness, struggling to remain conscious.

"Vincent!" she screamed, bending over in pain. "Oh God. It hurts!"

Vincent reached down, prying the comforter and sheets away from Catherine as she clenched them in her fists like a drowning woman clutching a life-preserver. Dimly, through a haze of excruciating pain, Catherine felt his hands begin to explore her body. They didn't hesitate, moving with the confidence of a trained emergency room physician.

His hands clasped her head, pulling her face toward his. "Catherine, open your eyes. Look at me. I need to see your eyes."

The command in his voice brought her to her senses for a moment and she looked up into his face. He pried her eyes further open with his fingers, his gaze precise, focused, analytical.

Just then another wave of agony pulsed through her ripping a wail of pain from her throat as she doubled over again. "Make it stop!" she screamed. "Please, make it stop."

His hands continued down her body, his touch the only thing keeping her from going insane. Through vision blurred by panic and pain she followed his hands on her. As he pulled her toward him on the bed she heard him gasp and looked down to see the blood soaked sheets where she had laid only moments before. Catherine looked at her calves and shins which were covered in blood. She followed her legs up her body where they disappeared under the night shirt, all soaked with the crimson red of her blood.

Her body convulsed again, pain and fear pulsing through every cell. This couldn't be happening. It must be some type of sick, horrible nightmare. She couldn't lose the baby. She just couldn't. Not after all they'd been through. Not after they'd created this miracle together.

Suddenly she realized Vincent's hands weren't on her any longer. Panic surged through her. "Vincent," she yelled, looking frantically around the room. Her eyes found to him by the dresser, cell phone in his hand.

"I'm calling 911," he said as he rushed back to her side. "Hang on, Catherine. Just hang on."

Time quit making any sense as Catherine fought to remain conscious, battling off wave after wave of mind numbing pain. Vincent's arms stayed wrapped around her, holding her through each gut wrenching convulsion, helping her to breathe in-between.

Through blurred vision she felt other hands grab her, lift her, lay her out flat on something. A sharp sting pinched one arm, then the other. It felt like she was moving. She could barely make out Vincent's face hovering over her. As moments passed everything grew more hazy and she began to lose interest in her pain. Everything continued to soften around her as her body relaxed and her mind calmed.

She heard Vincent's voice drift over her, as if coming from a great distance, "Catherine, I love you. Just hold on."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks everyone for your comments - and your concerns. I am an optimist and a sucker for happy endings, so please don't loose heart.**

**Also, IMHO, when writing about a difficult experience that isn't true fiction (true fiction = like getting shot by a laser-blaster), but which is something people experience in RL, it's easier than we might think to inadvertently trivialize it or make it a cliche. Even though it's still fiction and part of the dramatic arc of the story it deserves to be treated with respect. That doesn't mean there is only one way to show that respect. It all depends on the context of the story. For a dark and brooding story this scene should be dark and brooding. For an inspirational story it should be up-lifting. For a story in the middle it should be, in the middle (now that's a 'duh'). I think it's possible to write to the context of the story, but still be respectful by being true to the feelings. I tried to do that with this chapter. I hope I succeeded. Thanks for reading.**

* * *

_**Progeny**_

_**Chapter 9**_

Vincent laid on the hospital bed with one arm around Catherine having crawled up beside her earlier in the evening. She lay in a fitful sleep, her breathing labored, her head on his chest and her body tucked into his side. He had held her for hours as agonizing sobs of grief racked her tiny, fragile body. Finally, exhausted and full of drugs, sleep mercifully forced itself upon her.

It seemed, however, that sleep would not be as kind to him.

He ran the OBGYN doctor's explanation over and over in his mind. Fetal immune intolerance. That's what killed their unborn child.

What the doctor didn't know was that this was all his fault. It had to be his mutated DNA that overloaded Catherine's natural fetal immune suppression, causing her body's immune system to attack the fetus to protect itself. And in doing so Catherine almost died as well.

He'd wanted to scream at the doctor as she explained everything to him, dumbing it down to layman's terms. Scream at her that he was a doctor and knew exactly what had happened and that he was to blame. Scream at her that he was terrified because there was nothing he could do to protect the person he lived for. Scream at her that his own heart had been ripped out of his chest and crushed.

As he and Catherine had laid together he had been unable to stop his own keening tears. He tried, but a thick, dark sadness filled him and all he'd been able to do was hold Catherine and cry with her. She had held onto him, kissed him through her own tears, caressed his arms and hands which he'd wrapped around her. His eyes misted thinking that even in the depth of her despair she had found the strength to comfort him. She was the universe's gift to him - and he had almost lost her.

As evening passed into night and night passed into early morning Vincent paced the cold and sterile hospital room, unwilling to leave Catherine's side and unable to quiet his mind or calm his body. One of the graveyard shift nurses tried to persuade him to eat, dropping off several pieces of fruit and a carton of milk. But his stomach curdled at the thought of food. Eventually he pulled a chair up beside Catherine allowing him to lean forward against the bed, rest his head on the mattress and look over at her. Exhaustion eventually overpowered him and he drifted off to sleep.

Vincent woke to a strange and wonderful tingling warmth that brushed through his hair and grazed along his scalp. He opened his eyes to find his head laying on the hospital bed where he had rested it - for what seemed - only moments ago. Instead of darkness, light filtered through the window filling the room with the grayness of dawn. As the tingling continued to brush across his head he turned toward Catherine. She was awake, watching him with loving eyes, running her fingers through his hair. He smiled and closed his eyes, pushing his head into her hand and reveled in her touch for a long time.

Reluctant to break her caress, but needing to be closer to her, Vincent eventually rose and climbed back onto the bed. With little grunts of pain Catherine scooted sideways to make room and then snuggled into him as he settled. He pulled her closer and let out a relieved sigh. They said nothing and just held onto each other.

Some time later Vincent felt a wetness seeping through his shirt. He knew the source was Catherine's silent tears. He didn't move, didn't speak. He just held her tighter.

"I miss her," Catherine whispered into his chest, tears dripping from her cheeks. "There's a hole … right here," she touched her chest. "And it hurts. I'm scared it will never go away."

Vincent slowly ran his hand up and down Catherine's arm, needing to touch her as much as she needed his touch. "I know," he said, struggling to control his voice so his own despair didn't come through.

Catherine looked up into his eyes, "God, I loved her, so much. I know it sounds stupid. We didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl. But I-"

Vincent shook his head, "No, it's not stupid," he said. "I loved her too. She was our perfect baby girl."

"Yes, she was," Catherine breathed out, ducking her head back down and nodding against his chest.

Vincent pulled her closer and after a while Catherine spoke. "I don't know what to do. This isn't like when my mom died."

"It's not like when my brothers died, either," he said, the memory weakening his resolve, allowing his grief to break through once more. He felt the return of warm tears running down his face.

"Vincent," Catherine said, her voice cracking, "I'm so sorry. If I'd only been-"

Vincent pulled at her chin lifting her face to look at him. "No," he said, his voice hard, determined. "This is not your fault."

Catherine nodded slowly, looking down at their intertwined hands. "I just feel so … empty," she said, her shoulders tensing against him, the pain on her face like a knife twisting into his gut. "And I don't know what to do."

"I don't know either. I just want you to be safe," he said. "I want to protect you from this, but I can't. I don't know how."

Catherine grabbed his shoulder, pulling herself up to a sitting position as she grimaced in pain. Her eyes locked with his. "This isn't just about me," she said. "This is about us. We both lost a child - _our_ child."

She took his hands in hers. "The only thing I'm certain of right now is that I need to hold onto you. That's enough for today. That's enough for us both. Can you do that?"

Vincent swallowed hard and nodded, the warmth of her hands calming him.

Catherine pulled the collar of her hospital gown down, scrutinizing the scar over her right breast where a bullet had plowed through her chest. "This is nothing," she ground out. "I'd live through a hundred of these ... a thousand ... just to have her back."

A few silent beats later Vincent gently touched tight and puckered skin around the scar on Catherine's chest, then ran his finger down the jagged, angry scar on his face. "Maybe it's like these," he said. "Maybe after a long, long time it doesn't hurt as much. But it never goes away. It becomes part of who we are. Defines us. Reminds us of what's important."

Catherine reached up and pressed her palm to his scar. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"I'm still scared," she said.

"Me too," he said. "This is gonna be hard … for a long time."

"I know."

"What now?"

"Just hold me," she said. "That's enough for now."

As Vincent gathered Catherine back into his embrace she reached across his chest grabbing his arm, pulling him into her, holding him close. It was enough for him, too.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This chapter will see some movement away from the show's canon, but not a lot. Still trying to keep situations and timing relatively consistent with canon. Once more V & C "just show up" and do what's in front of them and life presents them with opportunities when they least expect it. RL is like that a lot, too. Thanks to everyone for sticking with the story and for your reviews and comments. **

* * *

_**Progeny**_

_**Chapter 10**_

"Dude. I can't believe this is happening. Do you know what this means?" JT asked enthusiastically, looking at Vincent across the bar in their refitted gentleman's club.

Vincent stared down at the piece of paper laying on the counter, a letter on ornate letterhead from the Honorable, Phillip J. Millsap, Democratic Senator from the State of New York and Chair of the Congressional Intelligence Oversight Committee. It had been delivered to the NYPD precinct office, addressed to him, care of ADA Gabriel Lowen.

"This means Murifield is _really_ gone. Kaput. Finito," JT said. "It crippled them when you escaped and they had to abandon their research facility. And after you and Catherine blew up their server farm, they were on the ropes. But when Reynolds confessed - that gave the FBI everything they needed to close the bastards down once and for all." He reached over and tapped his finger on the letter. "This proves it. If this Senator Millsap guy wants to talk to you about your 'top-secret service in the Army'- as he puts it - then Murfield is history."

Vincent looked over at Catherine sitting on the floor cross-legged, surrounded by her mother's file boxes of papers and journals overflowing with information about Vanessa Chandler's research and experiments at Murifield. After they were relatively certain the FBI had closed Muirfield down they had decided to collect all of her mother's documents and store them somewhere secret and safe. Catherine had been working for hours cataloging and re-boxing everything.

"Vincent, what are you gonna do?" Catherine asked, looking up at him.

He stood and walked over to Catherine. Smiling, he bent down and kissed her head, then continued to step over to the window. "I don't know," he said.

He gazed out at the early July sun bathing the city in summer heat. Scenario after scenario filled his thoughts. Finally, after more than a decade of torment, Murifield was actually gone. But what that meant for him and Catherine wasn't clear. Could he restart his life? Become a physician again? Build a life with Catherine? Marry her?

Marriage. He'd thought about it, a lot. When she'd told him she was pregnant marrying Catherine was one of his first thoughts. The promise of being a father and Catherine's husband had seemed surreal at first - and he'd been unable to comprehend why life would give him such a gift. He'd made the decision to ask her. He'd planned out his proposal. He'd even swallowed his pride and asked JT for a loan and bought an engagement ring.

But before he could ask her tragedy struck and they'd been plunged into a sorrow darker than he'd ever known. He'd put aside his proposal, his ring and his joy and focused instead on the two of them, working together to survive the torment of their grief - to survive the death of their unborn child.

He sucked in a breath, a familiar stab of pain visiting his heart. It had been almost seven months since he and Catherine had lost their baby, her body unable to adjust to his mutated DNA which had become part of their child. They both still felt the bitter grief of their loss. It had brought them closer, depending on each other to endure the times when sadness seemed unending and life felt hopeless. But each time they made it through the darkness - together. And each time it hurt a little less. They were no longer two separate individuals. They were one, each unable to exist without the other.

Vincent stood at the window for a long time thinking about everything that had brought him to this milestone in his life's journey. And all he'd done to get here was show up and do the right thing. He grinned. Catherine had taught him that - just show up and do what was in front of him. With her by his side he could do that.

Behind him Catherine sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh my god," she whispered.

Spinning on his heels Vincent crossed the room in a heart-beat, dropping to his knees beside her. "What is it?" he said. "Are you okay?"

"Look," she said, her voice hoarse, pointing to a page in one of her mother's journals.

Vincent scanned down the page, eventually nodding. "I remember when they did that," he said. "Before they started experimenting on us they took samples of everything in order to establish a base-line to track and measure our changes. Blood, tissue, hair, skin - they practically dissected us. They froze everything."

"There's more," Catherine whispered, continuing to point at the page.

Vincent read down the list and saw what had caught her attention. "Yeah, they took semen samples, too," he said. "But everything was destroyed in Afghanistan after they pulled the plug and started killing us off."

Catherine said nothing, shaking her head and pointing further down the page.

Vincent squinted, parsing the words. His breath hitched as he read one sentence. Holding his breath he read it again. And still he read it one more time, not believing his eyes.

According to Vanessa Chandler's notes all of the biological samples extracted from the experimental soldiers definitely were frozen - and shipped back to Muirfield labs in the United States. His body stiffened, a jolt of surprise shooting through him. He looked at Catherine who stared back at him, her eyes more intense than he ever remembered.

"We need access to the lab materials confiscated by the FBI," she said. "We have to follow-up on this."

"There's no way that will ever happen," Vincent said, dejection drowning his momentary excitement.

Catherine looked down, her brows knitted in concentration, then jerked her head up, her eyes wide. "Millsap," she said.

"What?" Vincent said.

"Ask Millsap," she said. "Go meet with him. Ask him to help. He's the Chair of the damned Intelligence Oversight Committee. He knows what's going on. He contacted you, not the other way around."

Vincent nodded. It was worth a shot. Access to _any_ information or resources about Muirfield's experiments on him would be invaluable in his and JT's hands. And if there was even the smallest chance a viable semen specimen had survived …., he didn't allow himself to finish the thought. He made up his mind. He would go to Washington DC, meet with this senator and ask for his help.

A week later Vincent and Catherine sat in Senator Millsap's outer office, sinking down into rich leather chairs, surrounded by the decorations and trappings indicative of a powerful US Congressman. Vincent tugged nervously at the collar of his shirt and tie. Catherine sat beside him, holding his other hand, her fingers intertwined with his.

"Mr. Keller," the senator's assistant said walking up to them, "Senator Millsap will see you now." The attractive, middle-aged woman looked at Catherine. "I'm sorry, Detective Chandler, but due to the classified nature of the senator's meeting with Mr. Keller you'll have to wait out here."

Catherine nodded. "I understand," she said.

Vincent stood, pulling Catherine to her feet. He gathered her to him, circling his arms around her and whispered into her ear, "No matter what happens, it doesn't change who we are together. I love you."

Catherine reached up and grabbed the nape of his neck, pulling his lips down to hers, obviously unconcerned about the other woman in the room. Eventually breaking the kiss she pulled back and a smile spread across her lips. "Give 'em hell, Keller," she said.

Vincent let out an amused laugh and squeezed her hand. Turning he followed the assistant into the senator's office.

Senator Phillip J. Millsap stepped forward as Vincent entered his office, grasping Vincent's hand and shaking it firmly. He was a tall man, in his early fifties, with a long, angular face, salt and pepper hair and dressed in an immaculate, blue, single breasted suit. His demeanor was confident and relaxed. For a politician, Vincent was surprised that he immediately felt at ease with the man.

"Mr. Keller, thank you for coming," Milsap said.

"Thank you, sir. And please, call me Vincent."

"Vincent it is," Millsap said, gesturing for Vincent to take a seat in a large leather chair. He sat in a matching chair, opposite Vincent.

"Son, let me cut to the chase," Millsap said. "I served in the Gulf in '91. Marine Corps. When I heard about this whole Murifield thing, about what had happened to you and your comrades …," his voice trailed off. "Well, we don't leave our own behind."

"Roger that, sir," Vincent said.

At Vincent's military acknowledgement Millsap smiled and let out a small chuckle.

"I want you to know two things, son. First, Muirfield is really gone. They won't be coming after you. But it's not just Muirfield. I'll make sure that no one from the government or the military will ever bother you or your loved ones again. That's a promise, one soldier to another."

Vincent felt his chest swell, a swirl of emotions rushing through him. Relief that he and Catherine would finally be free from living a life of fear. Validation that the government - if even just through this one man - acknowledged it's mistake and the heinous crime committed against him and his fellow soldiers. And pride that another soldier acknowledged his sacrifice and service to his country.

"Thank you, sir," Vincent choked out. "That means a lot."

"Second," Millsap continued, " is that you will never have to worry about your future. I'm sorry it took us so long to come back for you, son. But we won't leave you behind and you will never need to worry about your financial security. From this point on the US government is going to meet it's obligation to you for your service and sacrifice. You'll receive an honorable discharge with full retirement benefits, plus compensation to redress the wrongs done to you. You should never have to work again," Millsap said.

"That's not necessary, Senator. I just want my life back. I'd like to practice medicine again. Maybe get married, raise a family."

Vincent noticed that instead of a smug, satisfied look he would have expected on the politician's face, Millsap looked quizzical.

"From what I've read about you I figured money wasn't what motivated you. I see I was right," Millsap said, nodding his head. "Then just think of the money as back pay for hazardous duty."

Vincent let out a laugh. "Thank you, Senator."

"Tell me, son, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Actually, sir, there is."

Millsap leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "Talk to me."

This was it. Now or never. The rest of his life would forever be changed by the senator's answer to his request. Vincent swallowed hard past the lump in his throat.

"Senator, I need access to the materials the FBI confiscated from the Muirfield lab."

Millsap sat back in surprise. "Say again," he said.

"It's a long story, sir. Basically, Murifield took biological samples from all of us, put them in cryogenic storage and shipped them back to the States. I want to see if any of my samples survived - if any are viable."

"Not tracking you, son," the senator said, confused.

Vincent drew in a deep breath preparing to bare his soul to this man about his and Catherine's loss and their dream. They had never shared that information with anyone except JT and Tess and it had taken them several months to build up the courage to tell their best friends.

Vincent let out his breath and sat forward in the chair. "Back in December my - ah …," he sputtered to a stop and looked down at the floor. "Geez," he said, as much to himself as to the senator. "Catherine's more than my girlfriend. She's …, she's everything to me."

"Ahhh...," Millsap said, a knowing look on his face. "You mean the NYPD detective that helped you over the past two years. That's quite a story, son. She must be an amazing person."

Vincent met the senator's eyes. "She definitely is, sir."

He steadied himself and went on. "Last December she became pregnant. It was an accident. We hadn't planned it because it would be too risky for us to conceive a child with Muirfield in the picture. She miscarried. I almost lost her. My mutated DNA passed on to the baby and it was too much for her body to handle. Even now, with Muirfield gone, it's too risky for us to try and have our own child."

Millsap's eyes opened wide. "You said you wanted to see if anything was 'viable'," Millsap said, nodding in understanding. "You want to see if any semen samples survived - if they're _viable_. That would give you two the chance to have your own child."

"Yes sir," Vincent said, relieved the man understood.

Millsap slowly sat back in his chair, his face dropping into a frown. Vincent felt his shoulders tense waiting for the senator's response.

"I know I don't need to tell you that everything the FBI confiscated from Muirfield is highly classified," Millsap explained. "Even though I'm Chair of the Intelligence Oversight Committee I couldn't get access to that material. No way in hell. I'm sorry, son."

Vincent slumped back into his chair, his hopes and dreams crumbling, energy draining from his body. Silence stretched between them. Eventually Vincent let out a shuddering breath. "Understood, sir. Thank you for everything you've done for me - for us. I know Catherine will appreciate it."

"You're welcome, son. I wish I could do more. I'd like to thank the detective some day for all she's done to bring Muirfield to justice and to keep you alive until we could bring you home."

"She's here, sir. Out in the waiting room."

A surprised smile spread across Millsap's face. "Excellent," he said, standing quickly. "I want to meet this extraordinary woman."

Millsap walked to his office door, opened it and motioned for Vincent to go ahead of him. As Vincent stepped past him the senator's assistant stepped in through the door. "Sir, do you have a moment to look at this," she said, handing him a file folder.

"Ah, yes," Millsap said. "It's about time." Looking up at Vincent he said, "Give me a couple of minutes to take care of this, Vincent. I'll be right out." Millsap pulled his office door closed.

As Vincent entered the waiting room Catherine shot up from her chair and walked toward him. He forced a smile and reached out with both arms. She stepped into his embrace and circled her arms around his waist.

"He can't help us, can he," she said, disappointment ringing in her voice.

"No," Vincent whispered into her ear. "He doesn't have that much clout." His heart ached that he had failed to protect Catherine from Muirfield once again. Even though gone, Muirfield still reached out from its grave and tormented her, stealing her chance of living a life she deserved. He took in a deep breath and pulled her tighter into him, ducking his face into her hair.

"It was worth a try," she said, pushing her cheek into his chest.

He could hear the dejection in her voice even through her attempt to sound positive. He knew her heart was heavy, weighed down like his from the ragged pieces of their shattered hope.

"I'm sorry," Vincent said.

"Me, too," she said. Turning her head to look up at him Catherine said, "It'll be okay. We both showed-up today."

He smiled, understanding their personal shorthand for reminding each other that together they were strong enough to do anything.

Vincent heard the Senator's office door open. Stepping out of their embrace he took Catherine's hand and turned to the senator who walked toward them. "Senator Millsap, this is Detective Catherine Chandler of the NYPD."

Catherine pulled her hand from Vincent's and offered it to the senator. Millsap froze in his tracks, not moving, not offering his hand to Catherine, not even breathing, a stunned look on his face, as if he'd seen a ghost.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Believe it or not, V & C's option in this chapter is viable in real life. It isn't uncommon for successful conception to occur using sperm frozen for ten years or longer. Although for V & C this is a little more complicated - well, a lot more complicated - than for the average couple. But isn't everything like that for them?**

* * *

_**Progeny**_

_**Chapter 11**_

Catherine gave Vincent a concerned look, then turned back to the senator. "It's good to meet you, sir."

Millsap didn't move a muscle. Confusion coursed through Vincent, wondering what had happened in the last several seconds to have completely incapacitated the senator.

Millsap coughed. "Chandler?" he sputtered, sounding disoriented. Then, more intentionally he said, "You're … Chandler. Catherine Chandler." It was a statement, not a question.

Catherine shot Vincent another sidelong glance. "Yes sir," she said.

Millsap shook his head hard. "Of course!" he said, his voice ringing off the walls. "Of course it would be you. Who else would have the guts to stand up to Muirfield."

A beaming smile spread across the senator's face and although still confused Vincent relaxed a little.

Suddenly Millsap stepped forward and threw his arms around Catherine, lifting her off her feet, laughing. "It's about time we met, Detective Catherine Chandler," he crowed. "About damn time."

Millsap put Catherine back down and placed his hands on her shoulders, staring at her. "This changes everything," he said, nodding his head. He stepped back and waved both she and Vincent into his office. "Come in here," he said. "We've got to talk."

Vincent exchanged a questioning look with Catherine and shrugged his shoulders, letting her know he had no clue what was going on. They followed Millsap into his office and sat together, hand in hand, on the leather couch opposite the chair where the senator took a seat. He had composed himself but his face still beamed as he looked at Catherine.

"I'm sorry," he chuckled. "You probably think I'm a little crazy."

Catherine shrugged. "So, you're sure we've never met before, Senator?" she asked.

"No, Detective Chandler. I've never had that privilege, until now."

"You can call me Catherine," she said.

"Thank you, Catherine," he said. "Here. Let me show you what this is all about."

Millsap picked up a framed picture from the coffee table between them and handed it to Catherine. She held it out so both she and Vincent could study the photo. It was a picture of the senator with two young children on his lap, a boy and a girl, neither older than five or six years.

"These are my grandchildren," Millsap said. "Michael and …, Catherine."

Vincent looked up at the senator. There was emotion in his voice as he said his granddaughter's name. He looked at Catherine, searching her eyes for an explanation, but she shook her head.

"Because of you, Catherine," the senator said, "these two beautiful souls bless my life every day."

"I don't understand," Catherine said.

Millsap straightened in his chair, his grin fading, his business demeanor returning. "Of course. I'm sorry. Let me explain. My daughter, Gretchen, named my granddaughter Catherine - after the person who saved my daughter's life."

Vincent and Catherine exchanged confused looks.

"Nine years ago," Millsap continued, "an NYPD rookie cop single-handedly saved my newly married daughter from an attack which certainly would have resulted in her rape and most likely her death."

"Sir?" Catherine said, puzzled.

"Her married name is Wellington," Millsap said. "Gretchen Wellington."

Vincent saw Catherine's eyes open wide in recognition.

Millsap turned toward Vincent, continuing his story.

"My daughter had decided to walk home from NYU after her night class. She was grabbed by two men and pulled into an alley. By sheer luck this rookie cop and her partner were driving by on patrol and saw the men attack my daughter. They jumped out of their cruiser and rushed in to save her. A third man they hadn't seen caught one of the cops by surprise, knocking him unconscious. The other cop pulled her service weapon and shot one of the assailants before being disarmed and taking a knife wound to her lower torso, just under her kevlar vest."

Vincent glanced knowingly at Catherine who was staring off into space, her face intense, as if re-living the incident in her mind.

Millsap went on. "In the course of the fight my daughter was knocked unconscious. Even though the rookie cop was wounded she kept fighting. With only her expandable baton she fought off the remaining two attackers, permanently incapacitating one and killing the other before passing out from loss of blood."

Millsap turned toward Catherine, fierce emotion behind his eyes. "I was a representative in the State House at the time, always up in Albany. I wasn't here to protect my daughter. But you were. I never got the chance to thank you."

Catherine nodded slowly and turned toward Vincent. He knew what her questioning look asked of him. He nodded, giving her permission.

"Thank you, Senator," Catherine said. "But that's not exactly how it happened."

Millsap slumped back into his seat, his face surprised.

"Everything went down so fast," she said, looking at the floor, trying to remember. "Jerry - my partner - did get blind-sided and knocked out. I did shoot one of attackers, wounding him. One of the others did stab me and I did fight them off with my baton, breaking one guy's arm and leg. But I was overcome by the knife wound and lose of blood and I started to pass out while the other guy came at me."

Catherine stopped and shuddered. Vincent reached over, grasping both of her hands in his and took over the telling of the tale.

"I was there," Vincent said, "but before I could react Catherine was down, loosing consciousness, the third guy ready to take her out. That's when I dropped in from the roof of one of the buildings bordering the ally. I jerked the guy off Catherine, accidentally breaking his neck."

Vincent looked at Catherine. He had told her this story not long after they had met - after he had confessed to following her for years, acting as her silent guardian.

"Her partner started to regain consciousness," Vincent continued. "I knew he'd call for help and that they were out of danger. So, I left."

Millsap just stared, his gaze moving back and forth between them. After a long silence he said, "so, that was you - transformed into your - your other self?"

Vincent nodded. "Neither Catherine or her partner knew I was there. They assumed Catherine had stopped the third guy with her baton right before she passed out. I just told her about this two years ago, after I finally met her in person."

Catherine jerked her head up, fixing the senator with an earnest gaze. "Vincent has _never_ harmed an innocent person," she said. "Never!"

Millsap gave Catherine a soft smile and reassuring nod. "Don't worry, Catherine. I've read everything there is about Vincent. I know about the _vigilante_. I probably know more about him than he does about himself."

Millsap stood, his face lost in thought. Slowly he walked to his office window and stared outside.

Vincent looked at Catherine, moving closer to her on the couch, circling his arm around her waist. The room was deathly silent and the _tick, tick, tick_ of the old grandfather clock in the corner pounded in his ears.

Finally Millsap broke the silence. Still looking out his window he said, "I need a couple of weeks."

"Sir?" Vincent said.

Millsap turned and walked back to the sitting area, standing over them. "We're not done with Murfield, not yet," he said. "I'm gonna find out about those samples, son. If they still exist I'm gonna get them back for you. If there's even a snowball's chance in hell that you two can have a child without the danger of damaged DNA, then I won't rest until we know for sure."

Millsap looked at Catherine. "Vincent told me about what happened last winter. I'm so sorry, Catherine. I can't imagine the hell you've been through. But I play golf with some of the most renowned fertility specialists in the world and if we can recover a viable semen sample I'll do everything in my power to help the two of you have your own child. If that's what you want."

Catherine's eyes grew wet with tears. "Yes," she said, "more than anything." She sucked in a hard breath, "But the cost would be huge. We could never afford it and my health insurance wouldn't cover it."

Millsap's lips turned up into a smile. "That, my dear, is the easy part. I told Vincent he'd never have to worry about his financial future again. Making sure this happens is the very least the country can do to honor Vincent's service and atone for what happened to him. Not to mention the debt this country owes you for your help in taking Muirfield down."

The senator squatted down in front of Catherine and took her hands from Vincent's and into his, fixing Catherine with a devoted gaze. "Even if that wasn't the case I, personally, would spare no expense to make this happen for you. And even then I would never come close to repaying the debt I owe you."

Catherine turned to Vincent, her face mirroring his own hope for their future. "I can't believe we might get a second chance."

Millsap stood. "I have a feeling you'll both be traveling between Manhattan and DC a lot over the next couple of months. So, what do you say we get to work."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: "_A shower would make her feel better and get her mind off of impossible things, like fairytale weddings and happily ever afters about her life with Vincent."_**

* * *

_**Progeny**_

_**Chapter 12**_

Catherine closed her apartment door behind her and threw her keys onto the kitchen counter. Unclipping her pistol and badge from her belt she set them beside her keys. Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator she flopped down on the couch and slouched back, blowing out a long breath. It had been a hot, humid and just plain hard July day. She felt sweat soaking through the back of her top as it trickled down the ridge of her spine. Her muscles ached and her stomach growled in protest at having been neglected since breakfast. Glad the hellacious day was over she took a swig from her beer and lifted the cold bottle, brushing it across her forehead, condensation from the bottle's exterior dripping on her jeans. She let out a relieved sigh and closed her eyes.

Two weeks had passed since she and Vincent had made their pilgrimage to Washington DC. Two weeks since they'd met New York Senator, Phillip Millsap, who seemed to know quite a lot about both of them. Two weeks since this powerful congressional politician had pledged to help them in their last-ditch effort for a chance to conceive their own child free from the taint of Vincent's damaged DNA. For Catherine the time had crawled by, moving slower than a tortoise on a cold day. Anxiety and excitement, like pins and needles, battled inside her for dominance as they waited to hear from the senator.

Taking another swig from her beer Catherine picked up a new fashion magazine Heather must have left out on the coffee table. Absently she thumbed through the pages glancing at the photos of the latest summer styles, letting her mind relax and wander. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise at one photo of a matching pants and top combination, the fabric so shear the model could have worn nothing at all and no one would have known the difference. She chuckled at another photo of a bright pink and yellow mini-skirt worn by a model with an orange mohawk hair style. Probably wouldn't be seeing those styles anytime soon in the precinct bullpen.

Flipping to the next page her gaze paused, her attention focused on the photograph in front of her. It was a full-page advertisement. A beautiful young woman dressed in a strapless, long white wedding dress looked up longingly at a gorgeous young man wearing a formal black tuxedo, his arms wrapped around her waist. They looked happy, excited to start their new life together.

Catherine closed her eyes and imagined the elegant but simple gown wrapping her body in luxurious silk and taffeta, softly caressing the skin of her back and breasts, stomach and hips, thighs and legs, like an attentive lover. An orchid sat poised in her hair, tucked behind one ear. A diamond solitaire on her ring finger reflected the light as she reached up to stroke the cheek of her betrothed.

She watched her ring adorned hand gently brush the scare on her beloved's cheek. Vincent's cheek. It was he that smiled down at her, the love in his eyes undeniable. He had promised his love to her and she had done so in return. He would become her husband and she, his wife. What would it be like to make that promise to each other? To anticipate a wedding? To be married - to Vincent? To become one, together?

Goosebumps prickled across her neck and shoulders, rippling down her arms and back. She shuddered, shaking her head and smiling. She knew what it would be like. It would be wonderful, a love she would have never imagined could be hers. She'd never had a fiancé before, never seriously talked about marriage with anyone, unlike Vincent. He and Alex Salter had made the commitment to marry one day. Catherine couldn't fathom what that commitment would feel like, but she wanted to know. Wanted to know - with Vincent.

When she found out she was pregnant and that Vincent wanted the baby as much as she did, she had almost taken the bull by the horns and popped the marriage question herself, too impatient to wait for Vincent to ask her. But she'd stopped herself. She hadn't wanted him to think she had purposefully become pregnant to trap him into marriage. And after the situation last year with Alex she felt he would need to initiate the discussion of marriage, even if it was to tell her he didn't have the nerve - or the desire - to marry her.

Sadness began to thread slowly through her heart, bringing with it the cold weight of uncertainty, the uncertainty which seemed to be the very essence of their life together. She drew in a breath and let out a deep sigh. Their lives were still completely and totally bizarre. Marriage? Geez. Who was she kidding.

Catherine opened her eyes, tossed the magazine back on the coffee table, took another swig from her beer and stood, walking down the hallway toward her bedroom. She was hot and sticky and tired. A shower would make her feel better and get her mind off of impossible things, like fairytale weddings and happily ever afters about her life with Vincent.

She set the shower temperature to scalding, then peeled off her sweat soaked top and tossed it on the bathroom counter. Unfastening her jeans they dropped and pooled at her feet. Stepping out and kicking them aside she brought her eyes up to her reflection in the mirror.

She stared at her small frame, clad only in her burgundy lace bra and panties. Her arms and legs were long and lean, her waist and abdomen tight and toned. Her breasts were petite but full and perfectly proportioned for her size. Her small waist flared down and out slightly into feminine hips. She turned around and looked over her shoulder at her butt, which was firm and tight. She nodded to herself and smiled, satisfied that her workout regime still kept her fit for duty, as well as for _other_ extra-curricular activities with Vincent.

At that thought heat flushed through her, definitely not from the hot shower running next to her. The warmth surged down her spine and curled around her core, sparking her desire. She closed her eyes and splayed her hands flat against her abdomen, swaying slowly back and forth, imagining Vincent's arms wrapped around her, pulling her backwards into his chiseled chest. For a moment she considered quenching her desire right then and there, but Vincent was coming over later in the evening and waiting for him always stoked the fire in her belly and made their love making exquisite.

Catherine opened her eyes and gazed at her hands spread across her stomach. If things had gone differently seven months ago she would be looking at a very different Catherine in the mirror right now. She tried to imagine her pregnant belly bulging out with her nine month old baby ready to be born. She cupped her breasts through her bra and wondered how they would feel, swollen and heavy with mother's milk, aching and anxious for her child's lips.

A sharp and familiar pang of grief lanced through her, tightening her chest, making it painful to breathe. She forced in a deep shuddering breath and let it out slowly, allowing the sadness to move over her and through her, knowing it would pass in a few moments. The grief of loosing her unborn child had become a frequent visitor over the past seven months. At first the feelings were incapacitating, so painful all she could do was curl inward on herself and seek the safety of Vincent's arms. As the sadness became more familiar her confidence grew that she would survive its visits and continue on with life.

Catherine brought her hands back to her bare midriff, examining her stomach and waist as her contours tapered out to her small hips surrounded by the narrow hem of her lace panties. She might yet get the chance to see her body ripe with a new life if Senator Millsap was successful and - through some fluke of nature or divine providence - they were able to recover a viable sample of Vincent's semen from the Muirfield lab materials confiscated by the FBI. _Long-shot_ didn't do the situation justice. It was a one-in-a-million possibility. But she and Vincent has beaten the odds so far, every time, as long as they stayed together. With him by her side, she'd take those odds - any day.

But what she needed now was a hot shower, clean clothes, some food and Vincent. That would set her world right-side-up again. She took in another deep breath and blew it out. Pulling her gaze away from the mirror she stepped under the hot spray and let it wash away the grim and the pain of the day.

Feeling refreshed, Catherine threw on a clean pair of jeans, her damp hair moistening the collar and shoulders of her blue t-shirt. As she dressed she thought back to the wedding advertisement in the magazine and then the vision of her pregnant body standing before her bathroom mirror. Whether or not she and Vincent were successful in their current quest to conceive a child she wondered if they had passed a point of no return. Passed a point where they needed to take their commitment to the next level - passed a point where it made no sense not to.

They needed to have the "M" discussion. Well, maybe he didn't need to, but she did. Catherine needed to tell him how she felt, how she wanted to commit herself totally and completely to him in front of the entire world, how she wanted to take the next step in their journey together. She no longer had any doubts - hadn't had them for a long time. But Vincent might.

He hadn't broached the subject. He'd said nothing when she was pregnant and since then he'd not provided any clues about how he felt about marriage. Just the thought of asking him sent churning waves of fear through her. But they couldn't put this off any longer. Any day now Millsap would call with either good news or bad news. But now she realized that whatever Millsap came up with didn't matter. She wanted Vincent. She wanted him to call her _wife. _She wanted him to be her husband.

The chirping of her cell phone brought her out of her rumination, notifying her of a waiting text message. She grabbed her phone off the dresser and opened the message. '_Roof.'_ Catherine smiled, the familiar glow of love filling her chest along with the desire she knew only too well tindering heat between her thighs. Her life's love was here and she couldn't wait to see him.

Catherine opened the roof door and stepped out into the early July evening. As she looked up from the door's threshold she jerked to a stop. Her breath caught at the sight across the roof, her mind spinning in confusion. Had she forgotten some special day or event? Had she missed something important? She racked her brain trying to decipher the scene before her.

Where she and Vincent had set-up a small bench, now stood a small bistro table with two matching chairs. Two white candles burned brightly, set in sterling silver holders on top of a white, brocade tablecloth. A full course meal for two sat on the table, the rich aroma of pasta, sauce and sautéed vegetables drifting to her. A chilled bottle of champagne sat in a silver ice bucket mounted atop a pedestal next to the table.

Vincent stood beside the table wearing a dark gray suit, white shirt and navy blue tie, a bouquet of red roses in his hand. His shock of dark hair was slightly disheveled, as usual, but his green eyes looked darker than normal. Catherine's breath grew shallow and fast. He was utterly gorgeous.

As Catherine focused on his face she saw his eyes were huge, his face uncertain, his hands fidgeting. He looked like a scared rabbit ready to bolt. She had no clue what was going on and she shook her head in confusion.

"Vincent," Catherine said, as she walked over to the table, "what's all this?"

"Ah …, It's …," Vincent sputtered, "… it's dinner." He gave her a sheepish grin and shrugged his shoulders.

Catherine chuckled and tilted her head. "Yeah. I can see that. And it looks like a nice dinner. Who's the lucky girl?" she said in a mocking tone.

Vincent looked startled for a moment, then his sheepish smile returned, obviously understanding Catherine's teasing jest.

He looked down and seemed surprised at the flowers in his hand. "Oh…, these are for you," he said, handing the roses to Catherine. "I hope you like them."

Catherine was dumbfounded at how awkward and nervous Vincent seemed. Not one to stumble over his words, nor one to be indecisive, he was acting completely out of character. He was actually sort of cute, in a weird kind of way.

Catherine took the flowers, raising them to her nose and inhaling the pungent and familiar aroma of fresh-cut roses. "They're beautiful," she said. "Thank you."

Vincent's smile relaxed a little and he nodded, a relieved look on his face. Catherine continue to inspect him, looking for clues that would explain his unusual behavior and the nature of, what obviously was, a celebration of some kind.

"Did I miss something?" Catherine said. "I mean, this is incredible. And you've obviously gone to a lot of effort this evening. I'm just not sure what this is all about."

Vincent took a step toward her, his hands fidgeting again, his nervousness back in full-force. "It's about … you," he said, almost in a whisper. "It's always been about you." He stopped and looked into her eyes and she couldn't have looked away if she'd wanted to.

"I want it to always be about you," he said. "I love you, Catherine."

"I know you do. And I love you too," Catherine said, as chills started to run down her spine in the hot, humid evening. She felt her body tense, anticipation sending prickling fingers crawling from her stomach up into her chest. Her heart started to pound. The rushing noise of blood in her ears made it hard to concentrate.

"Catherine, I am such an idiot," Vincent said, shaking his head. "I wanted to do this a long time ago. But …," his voice choked off, a deep and intense pain flashed behind his eyes.

"Do what?" Catherine asked, her voice shaky. Her breath hitched at the question as her pulse hammered through her.

Vincent ducked his left hand into his suit coat pocket, pulling out a small, burgundy colored velvet box. "Catherine …," his voice trailed off.

Catherine froze at the sight of the small box in his hand. Her legs wobbled and her knees felt like jello. Every emotion possible blasted through her. The hot sting of tears burned the corners other eyes.

Vincent took the last step toward her, closing the gap between them. Slowly he reached out, taking her left hand in his right, pulling it up and toward him, the velvet box in his other hand. His eyes bored into her, holding her, loving her. He took in a breath and opened his mouth.

Vincent froze, his mouth open. His body jerked and his eyes morphed into a blank stare. Simultaneously Catherine heard the _crack_ of a distant rifle shot. Blood started seeping through the front of his suit coat and he collapsed to the roof top in front of her.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thanks everyone for following the story and for your reviews and comments. Hang in there and remember what I said about happy endings.**

* * *

**_Progeny_**

_**Chapter 13**_

Catherine's heart stopped. She stood, frozen in place, gaping in horror as time redefined itself into excruciatingly slow, frame by frame vignettes of Vincent; his eyes rolling back into his head, his knees buckling, arms flailing limply, his body collapsing onto itself as he started his agonizingly slow journey to the ground. The small velvet box flew from his hand in slow motion, as if plowing its way through thick, invisible molasses. It bounced on the rooftop and tumbled forward to stop at Catherine's feet as Vincent's face hit the ground.

Catherine's vision tunneled down to a pinpoint, Vincent and the velvet box the only things she could see. Somewhere, far in the distance, there was a faint droning sound, a ringing in her ears that gradually increased in volume as she watched Vincent's body slowly descend and slam into the ground, only to bounce up slightly and drop down again. The sound grew louder and louder until time suddenly exploded from its temporary bubble and she recognized her own shrieking wail.

"Vincent!" Catherine screamed at the top of her lungs. "Vincent!"

Hot, throbbing fear coursed through Catherine, driving her forward as her body and mind switched to auto-pilot, her training taking over. Her eyes darted around, looking for cover, a place where she could drag Vincent to get him out of the line of fire. Finding nothing she turned the small table on its side, dishes and food crashing to the ground, pulling it around to place it between the two of them and the direction from which she thought the shot had come. Grabbing Vincent's collar she pulled him backwards to get his whole body behind the table. She knew it provided no protective cover from a high-powered rifle, but visual cover to obscure a sniper's aim was better than nothing.

Gasping to catch her breath Catherine gritted her teeth, anticipating the crack of another rifle shot and the barbed, searing pain of a bullet ripping through her body. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed 911. The emergency operator came online. In between gulps of air Catherine yelled into the phone, identifying herself with her badge number, that shots were fired and a man was down. The operator kept her on the line and less than a minute later Catherine heard the sirens of their approaching rescue.

Within minutes a SERT team crashed through the rooftop door, rushing over to the meager cover provided by the bistro table. Hefting full length, Kevlar riot shields in the direction that Catherine pointed, several men created a mobile, bullet-proof barrier. Other members of the SERT team pulled Vincent to the roof door and down into the safety of the stair landing.

Catherine's head spun, everything a blur of motion and sound. Panic surged through her veins as she staggered down the steps behind the paramedics working on Vincent as the SERT team carried him on a stretcher to the waiting ambulance in the street below.

The team burst through the lobby doors rushing Vincent's stretcher to the ambulance's open doors. As Catherine ran after them Tess came up beside her.

"Cat, what the hell happened? Are you okay?" Tess blurted out.

Still struggling to catch her breath as they jogged toward the ambulance Catherine said, "It's Vincent. He's been shot."

"Shit," Tess hissed. "What about the shooter?"

"Sniper," Cat said. "Not sure where it came from."

They came to a stop behind the ambulance, watching the paramedics pull out a collapsible gurney and place the stretcher on top, strapping Vincent down for transport. Catherine could see he was unconscious and badly injured as blood continued to seep through the white cloths pressed against the wound in his chest.

Tess stepped up beside Catherine and put her arm around Catherine's shoulder. The frantic insanity whirling around in Catherine's mind started to clear and her stomach lurched, bile burning her throat. She leaned into her friend and drew in a huge, shuddering breath as she watched the paramedics continue to work on Vincent.

Seconds later the gurney was loaded into the back of the van and Catherine moved forward, stepping onto the bumper to climb up into the back. A burly paramedic stuck his arm out, baring her way. "You can't get in there," he said.

Catherine glared up at the huge man. "Let me in," she growled. "I'm going with him."

"No can do," the man said.

"Screw this," Catherine said. "I'm getting in."

"Not unless your related. Are you family?"

"I …, I'm …," Catherine sputtered to a stop. Vincent was everything to her and she to him. She was more than family, but then again, not family.

"Sorry," the big man said. "Not family, not riding."

A hollow, aching emptiness consumed her. If she were Vincent's wife she'd be sitting by his side right now, holding his hand, protecting him, making sure they were doing everything possible to save him. But she wasn't his wife. In the eyes of the legal system, of society, she had no ties to Vincent at all. Yet, her entire being was so much a part of him she had long ago lost track of their separateness. This paramedic - he didn't know. And because he didn't know she couldn't be with Vincent now.

Catherine turned away, tears burning her eyes, the unrelenting weight of defeat pushing down on her.

"Cat," Tess said, grabbing Catherine by the shoulders and shaking her. "That's bullshit. You're a goddamned cop and you just witnessed an attempted murder. We don't have the shooter. You need to be in that bus. Not as his girlfriend. As an NYPD detective."

Catherine sucked in a breath as anger shot through her. Tess was right. She needed to get her shit together, needed to start acting like a cop, not a weak, fragile school girl. She was getting in that meat wagon, come hell or high water. She spun around, pulled her badge from her belt and charged forward, Tess by her side, her own badge held up.

"Move aside," Catherine said to large man.

He glowered at her but kept his arm up, blocking her way.

Catherine spread her feet and squared her shoulders defiantly, slowed her breathing and pulled every scrap of energy and will she had left to her command. She fixed a steely gaze on the huge man and her voice was quiet, hard and full of malice. "I'm a cop. This man's in my protective custody. I'll give you three seconds to move out of my way. If you don't move, I will … break … your … fucking … arm!"

The paramedic's face turned white and he swallowed hard. He averted his eyes and dropped his arm, stepping away from the ambulance. Catherine turned and caught Tess' eyes, expressing her thanks with just a look. The paramedics in the back of the ambulance had witnessed her confrontation with their larger colleague and moved aside, making a place for Catherine who sat down beside Vincent as they continued to hover over him.

As the ambulance doors began to close Catherine jerked upright. She jumped up and stepped to the back door, holding it open. "Tess," she shouted over the noise of sirens, engines and the crowd of people milling around.

Tess turned back toward Catherine. "Yeah?" she said.

"I need you to get something off the roof."

"What?"

Catherine swallowed hard and her voice faltered for a moment. "It's a small box. Red. Velvet covered."

Tess' eyes bugged out and her mouth dropped open.

"Tess," Catherine shouted. "Please."

Tess snapped her mouth shut and nodded. "Done," she shouted back as the ambulance started to pull away and the doors closed.

The gurney flew down the hospital's emergency entrance hallway, Vincent's unconscious body leaking his red life-force despite the paramedic's efforts to stem the blood flow. Catherine ran behind it, her effort and her panic making each breath a struggle.

They crashed through a set of double doors and hospital staff in blue scrubs stepped up and took over from the paramedics who rattled off information about Vincent's vitals, his injury and the measures they had taken to fight for his survival during his transportation in the ambulance. The blue-scrubbed staff turned the gurney down another hallway and continued to rush Vincent further into the bowels of the hospital.

Catherine turned to follow the gurney when a large orderly stepped in front of her. "I'm sorry but you have to stay here."

She didn't have time for this. Catherine sent the orderly the same menacing glare she'd forced on the paramedic who'd tried to stop her from getting into the ambulance. He seemed unimpressed.

"Move," she ground out.

"No one's allowed past this point except patients' family members. Are you family?"

Not this again. Catherine felt her resolve weaken for an instant, sadness and regret spiking through her. She should be Vincent's family. She should be able to scream at the man to let her by, that she was his _wife_, for God's sake.

Forcing down her pain she stomped her foot hard on the ground in frustration. "No," she said. "Now, get out of my way," and she took a step forward.

The orderly placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. The man's touch was the last straw, bursting the dam holding back the burgeoning weight of Catherine's anguish. A guttural yell escaped her lips as she grasped the man's wrist, lifted, twisted, spun around and under the man's arm, forcing his arm back and up while she simultaneously stepped behind him bringing her other hand to the man's neck, forcing him to his knees in front of her.

The orderly cried out in pain as Catherine bent his arm further, glaring down at his back, panting hard, seething rage exploding from every nerve ending. Just a little further and his arm would break. Just a little further and her rage would be quenched, the injustices against her redeemed by this man's pain.

"Stop," the man grunted. "I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice a raw gasp.

Catherine froze and shook her head, her senses returning. What was she doing? What had come over her? Her anger and rage had done this - had driven her out of her mind, stripped her of her senses, of her control, of her humanity. Was this what it was like for Vincent when his beast took over - only a million times worse?

Breathing heavily Catherine released the man and stepped back. He turned and sat on the floor, grabbing his injured shoulder, grimacing in pain. She pulled her badge from her belt and displayed it to the orderly. "Someone's trying to kill this man. I need to protect him until guards are in place. Where did they take him."

The orderly cowered down but lifted his good arm and pointed down the hallway. "Third set of double doors, on the left."

"I'm sorry," was all Catherine could say. She turned and ran down the hallway.

Two hours had passed and Vincent was still in surgery. Catherine paced back and forth across the ER waiting room like a caged lion. Two uniformed officers had been dispatched to provide protection for Vincent incase his assassin knew he was still alive and came to finish the job. Except if Vincent didn't survive the surgery, there'd be no need for the assassin to follow-up on anything.

"Cat!" Catherine turned to find Tess standing in the doorway. "I got here as soon as I could." She rushed forward and pulled Catherine into her arms.

Catherine flinched and stiffened for an instant, then all of the fear and anguish which she'd been fighting to hold back exploded in tears and she collapsed into Tess' embrace, her racking sobs shaking both their bodies. Tess guided them to a couch and sat down, never breaking her hold on Catherine.

Catherine let her body and soul purge themselves through her keening sobs. She held onto her best friend and cried for a long time. Eventually she ran out of tears and her body calmed. She forced in several deep breaths and pulled back from Tess, a half-smile on her face. "Thanks, I needed that."

"No problem," Tess said. "I'm your partner. I've got your back." Tess reached down and took both of Catherine's hands in hers. "They told me Vincent's still in surgery."

Catherine nodded, fear tugging at her heart.

"They also told me you just about broke a guy's arm," Tess said, a smirk on her face. "What's that all about?"

"The guy was trying to stop me from going with Vincent into the ER. Said because I wasn't family I couldn't go in."

"Not that again?" Tess said.

Catherine nodded. "I just lost it. The guy put his hand on my shoulder to stop me and …"

Tess rolled her eyes and laughed. "The guy had a death wish."

Catherine let out a snort.

"Well, after this is all over and Vincent's recovered you'll never have to worry about that again." Tess said.

"Worry about what?" Catherine asked, puzzled.

"You won't have to worry about not being family. By the way, the ring's gorgeous."

Catherine continued to star at Tess, confused by her cryptic comments.

Tess's eyes grew wide. "He did ask you, didn't he?"

"Did who ask me what?" Catherine said. But she was beginning to suspect what Tess was ranting about.

"Oh my god," Tess breathed out. "He didn't." She fumbled in her coat pocket and pulled out the small velvet box and extended it to Catherine.

Catherine didn't move, her breathing stilled, her chest so tight it felt like it would collapse in on itself. She stared at the box, afraid to touch it, afraid it would burn her hand if she allowed herself to have it and what she suspected rested inside. Tess pushed it toward her and Catherine hesitantly took the box and held it reverently in both hands, gazing down at it.

"Open it," Tess urged.

Catherine looked up at Tess, confused, uncertain, needing permission, needing support.

As if reading her mind a reassuring smile spread across Tess' face. "Go ahead, open it. You deserve it. He loves you."

With agonizing slowness Catherine pried back the hinged lid of the box. Inside, sitting in a velvet lined crease was a diamond solitaire ring, the stone about a carat in size set in a simple and elegant platinum band. Catherine's heart skipped a beat. For the umpteenth time that day threatening tears burned her eyes and her throat was so tight it hurt.

She looked up at Tess. "That's why he went to all the trouble to arrange a romantic dinner on the roof," Catherine said. He was going …," she pushed back a sob, "… going to …," she stuttered, unable to finish.

"Oh, come on, Chandler," Tess chided softly. "You're a big, bad cop. Certainly you can say the word. He was going to _propose_."

Tears flooded Catherine's eyes, her heart breaking open. "Tess." she said, her throat raw, her voice hoarse, "Oh god, Tess. What if he doesn't …" she choked on her words.

Tess' smile faded into a guilty frown and she grabbed Catherine's hands. "He'll be okay, Cat. He's young, he's strong … and he loves you with all his heart. He'd do anything for you. He'll fight his way back to you, I just know it."

Catherine forced a smile and nodded, took in a deep breath and steadied herself. She looked down at her hands cradling the box with Vincent's ring. With _her_ ring. Gingerly she pulled it from the box and held it up.

"Put it on," Tess said.

"What?" Catherine said.

"Put it on," Tess repeated.

"I shouldn't," Catherine said. "I don't know for sure if-"

Tess cut her off. "Of course you know," she said. "He was going to ask you to marry him. It doesn't take a detective to figure that out. And if anyone needs to know who his family is, just show them that."

With trembling hands Catherine brought the ring to her left hand, poised at the tip of her ring finger. She looked up at Tess once more, fear and uncertainty pulsing through her along side excitement and anticipation. Tess nodded at her and in that moment she committed the rest of her life to loving Vincent and no other as she slid the diamond ring onto her finger.

Joy flooded every cell, her entire body coursing with life and love and it felt like she was floating, walking on air. She looked back up at Tess and saw the tears trailing down the cheeks of her best friend. They reached out, embracing each other, rocking back and forth together, each sobbing into the other's ear.

"I'm so happy for you," Tess whispered. "You two were meant to be together."

Catherine pulled back and looked at Tess, unable to speak, but knowing her gratitude for her friend's unwavering support showed on her face.

"Excuse me," a man's voice said from the waiting room doorway. "I'm looking for a Detective Chandler."

Giving Tess' shoulders one last squeeze Catherine wiped the tears from her face, forcing her focus back to her job and who she was as a cop and detective. Standing she faced the man, pulling her jacket aside so he could see the badge on her belt and said, "I'm Chandler."

"I'm Doctor Barnes. I was told to talk to you about the man you accompanied here in the ambulance. You said his name is Vincent Keller, is that correct."

"Yes. Is he out of surgery? Will he be okay?" Catherine said, unable to keep the worry from her voice.

"Yes, he's out of surgery. We're doing our best but he's in bad shape. Can you tell me what happened, detective? How was he shot?"

"Someone tried to kill him," Catherine said, forcing back a shudder, commanding her body to control itself.

"So that's why you and the uniformed officers are here. To protect him?"

"That's right."

"I see," the doctor said, rubbing his chin. "It's important I get in touch with his immediately family as soon as possible. Do you know how to reach them?"

Catherine's breath caught in her throat at the doctor's earnest tone. "He doesn't have any immediate family left. His parents are dead and his brother's died in the towers."

"Oh," the doctor said, his expression troubled.

Tess stood up next to Catherine, jabbed her elbow into Catherine's ribs and pointed down at Catherine's left hand.

Realization flashed in Catherine's mind as she looked at the ring on her finger. "I'm his immediate family, Doctor," she said.

"Excuse me," the doctor said, giving her an incredulous look.

Catherine held up her left hand, displaying the engagement ring - _her_ engagement ring. "I'm Vincent's fiancé. I'm his family," she said, her voice resolute. "What do you need?"

"All right," the doctor said, nodded slowly. The color drained from his face and his lips turned down into a frown. "Detective Chandler, we need to talk."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I know I say this a lot, but I really mean it - thanks for your support and feedback. You all have really set my muse in overdrive - all chapters are completed in rough draft - 18 chapters total. So, only 4 chapters left. Working hard on proofing and polishing so I can upload at least one chapter per day for the next five days (including today - Friday). That means everything should be posted by next Tuesday. **

**PS - Don't lose heart, it's a "romance" and by definition (at least my definition) romances have happy endings. The saying - the harder you work the sweeter the rewards - applies here, and Cat has been working her backside off. ;-). Thx.**

* * *

**_Progeny_**

**_Chapter 14_**

"Detective Chandler," Doctor Barnes said, "I need to talk to you about your fiancé's condition." He shot a questioning glance at Tess.

"It's okay, Doctor. Tess is my partner and best friend. Whatever you need to tell me, Tess can hear."

"If you wish," he said. "Let's sit down."

Catherine's heart started pounding and her shoulders pinched with tension. "What is it?" she asked.

"Detective Chandler-"

"Call me Catherine," she said.

He nodded. "Catherine, Vincent is out of surgery. But he's in critical condition." He paused and sucked in a short breath. "There's no easy way to put this …, his chance of survival is questionable right now. The bullet entered the right side of his chest at a downward angle, tearing the subclavian vein and puncturing his right lung."

Tess let out a hiss.

"The lung isn't the main problem. It's the blood loss. He's lost a lot. Too much, too fast. We struggled to repair the vein and finally stopped the bleeding. But we may have been too late."

Catherine stared at the doctor, her mind and body going numb, barely able to hear him.

"The next several hours are critical. We'll know more by then. In the mean time I want to let his family know, so if they want to see him before …," his voice trailed off.

Catherine forced her attention to the doctor's face. "Thank you, Doctor."

He sat, looking at Catherine for a long time, then pushed out a breath. "You need to go sit with him. Talk to him," he said.

"What?" Catherine said.

"I'm considered a little weird by my colleagues," Barnes explained. "I believe that a patient's subconscious can hear and understand what's being said to them when they're unconscious or in a comma. I also believe the mind and spirit are connected and that both, when working together, can perform miraculous things."

"What are you saying?" Catherine asked.

"I'm saying, go and be with him. Tell him you love him. Remind him of who you are together." He scrubbed a hand through his brown hair and nodded toward the ring on Catherine's left hand. "Emotion is the most powerful force in the universe. It's the basis for everything. The outbreak of war and the triumph of peace. The birth of art and of every scientific breakthrough. Most importantly, the creation and nurturing of life."

The doctor swallowed hard and his voice cracked just a little. "He needs to be reminded that he has something to fight for. Someone to come back to. I've done all I can do to bring his body back. It's up to you to bring his spirit back."

Catherine nodded. "I …, I can do that. Where is he? Can someone take me to him?"

Barnes smiled. "I'll get a nurse to take you to his room as soon as he's out of recovery." He stood and turned to leave.

Catherine reached out and caught his hand. He turned back toward her. "Thank you, Doctor Barnes."

He nodded, then added as an afterthought, "All the thanks I'll need is an invitation to the wedding."

Letting out a choked chuckle Catherine said, "Front row seats."

Barnes smiled. Catherine let his hand slide free and he turned and left the waiting room.

Catherine looked at her watch as she followed the nurse through the hospital toward the Intensive Care Unit It was almost midnight, three hours since her conversation with Doctor Barnes. Three monotonous hours in the waiting room going out of her mind. Finally she was going to be with Vincent.

JT had shown up just after Barnes had left. Since there was nothing either he or Tess could do at the hospital Catherine had convinced them to return to the precinct and start to hunt for Vincent's assassin. He was still out there and Vincent wouldn't be safe until they captured him and put him behind bars. Tess had pulled a reluctant JT out the door assuring Catherine that they'd find the shooter no matter what it took.

"Detective Chandler," the nurse said as they stopped in front of Vincent's room, "are you sure you're ready for this."

"I've been in a hospital plenty of times," Catherine said, "and seen plenty of injured people. Even been in the bed myself."

"I have no doubt, given your profession," the woman said. "It's just that …, well …, it's different when it's someone you love. I understand you're newly engaged," she glanced down at the ring on Catherine's hand. "I just want you to be emotionally prepared, that's all."

Catherine nodded and drew in her feelings, stuffing them deep down. "I'm ready. Let's go," and she followed the nurse into the room.

As Catherine stepped through the door the sharp tang of disinfectant cleansers and bleach assailed her nose. The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor and the intermittent hissing and clicking of the oxygenator droned in the background. Squinting through the dim light she could barely make out Vincent laying unconscious in the bed, still as death except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. An oxygen mask covered his face and IV's stuck out from both arms.

The nurse was right. It was different. The fear she'd been fighting down all evening clawed it's way back to the surface. Her pulse kicked-up a notch and for a moment vertigo threatened to overtake her. She took a faltering step to the side and the nurse reached out quickly and grabbed her arm, supporting her.

"Are you all right?" the nurse asked.

Catherine swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. I'll be okay." She took breath and steadied herself. "Can I go to him? Can I touch him?" she said, looking at the nurse for permission.

"Absolutely," the nurse replied. "I know Doctor Barnes is big on talking to patients when they're not conscious. So, talk to him. Hold his hand. Touch his face. Just be careful to not dislodge anything."

"Thank you," Catherine said.

"Of course," the nurse said. "If you need anything, just press the call button." She turned and left the room.

Catherine stepped to the bed and gulped hard as she stood over Vincent staring down at his quiet form. He looked weak, vulnerable, so far removed from the strong, viable man she knew. She forced back a shuddering sob and pushed hard at her fear, driving it back down into her depths.

The irony didn't escape her. Only seven months ago the situation had been reversed, she lying in a hospital bed almost bleeding to death and he standing vigil by her bedside.

With trembling hands she tentatively reached out, hesitating before she took Vincent's left hand in both of hers. She looked at the beautiful ring on her hand juxtaposed to the barren ring finger of his.

_We're gonna fix that as soon as you're out of here_, she thought. _There's gonna be a ring on that finger, Mr. Keller. Mark my words._ A quiet laugh escaped her lips at her thought.

The doctor had told her to talk to him, even if he wasn't awake. He said Vincent would hear her, at least his subconscious mind would. He said she needed to bring him back to this life, she needed to give him a reason to keep fighting. It was worth a try. She took in several deep breaths, calming herself, focusing her attention.

"Vincent," Catherine said, rubbing his hand in both of hers, "it's Catherine. I'm here." A surge of emotion roiled up and she had to stop and swallow hard. She clamped down on her mind and heart, forcing them to bend to her will. After several heart beats she regained control.

"I don't know if you can hear me," she said, her voice shaky. "I hope there's some part of you that knows I'm here." Catherine paused, then leaned slowly down, bringing her lips to Vincent's in a soft kiss. "I love you," she whispered, "and I need you, more than I can say. Please fight to come back to me. Fight to come back _us._"

Catherine moved Vincent's fingers so they rested on her diamond ring. "I got your ring," she said. "Here it is. Do you feel it? I put it on my finger. It's beautiful, so beautiful." A smile quirked her lips. "And the answer is _yes_. Yes, I'll marry you. But I still want to hear you ask me. I want to hear the words come from your lips. I need you to fight, Vincent."

Moving her lips to Vincent's ear her voice was soft, but intense and full of emotion. "I never felt whole until you loved me. I never fit in. I didn't know how to love. But with you everything has changed. My life is full. I have hope again. And it's because of you."

"But you've got to come back to me," she said, tears trickling down her face, dripping on his hands clasped in hers. "I want to build my life with you, grow old with you. I want to have children with you. We have a chance, Vincent. A chance to build a family." She took in a shuddering breath. "Please come back. Please."

Catherine moved her face down to place one last kiss on Vincent's lips, then lowered his hand to the bed and slipped her fingers out from underneath.

She grabbed an extra blanket and pillow from the counter across the room, pulled up a chair beside Vincent's bed and hunkered into it wrapping the blanket around her, beginning her silent vigil.

The warmth of the blanket and comfort of the pillow enveloped her and her mind slowly began to calm, releasing its death grip on the fear and grief she'd been holding at bay. The tension in her muscles began to drain away and fatigue began to stalk her like a predator. She fought it off as long as she could, but eventually exhaustion overwhelmed her and she dropped off to sleep.

Catherine woke with a start to the quiet rustlings of someone moving close by. Her eyes snapped open and darted around, momentarily disoriented. Then she recognized the hospital room and remembered where she was. Bringing her eyes to Vincent's bed she noticed Doctor Barnes standing on the other side, flipping through papers on a clipboard, surveying equipment readouts and checking the various tubes attached to Vincent.

Catherine moved to stretch her arms and legs and the doctor glanced over at her. "Sorry I woke you," he said.

Catherine finished her stretch and looked at her watch. 3 AM. "No problem, Doc," she said at the end of a long yawn. "How's he doing?"

"Still too early to tell," Barnes said.

His voice was hoarse and his face was pale with large dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted but seemed nervous and fidgety. Probably the result of no rest. At least she'd racked-up about three hours of sleep. Better than nothing.

"Why don't you go down to the hospital's guest quarters. You can take a shower, sleep on a regular bed. Maybe swing by the cafeteria and get something to eat."

"I'm good, Doc. But thanks."

Barnes looked down nervously at his clipboard. "You know, Catherine, you're not going to do Vincent any good if you're exhausted. He's going to need your strength and support to pull through."

Catherine cringed at his words. She was exhausted and her stomach grumbled with hunger. Her dinner had ended up on the roof of her apartment building and she'd been a little too preoccupied to think about food since then. "I just don't want to leave him alone," she said.

"Tell you what," Barnes said, "how about just a shower and some food." He scribbled down something on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "Here's the code to the family overnight guest quarters. You can grab a quick shower. It'll make you feel better. The other number is my cafeteria account. Grab something to eat, and bring it back here. You'll be gone twenty minutes, tops. I'll stay with Vincent until you get back."

"But I need to be close, to protect him," Catherine said.

"Have you seen the two officers that just took over guard duty? They're huge. No offense, Catherine, but I think they can handle anything that might happen in the next twenty minutes - and then some."

"But what if he wakes up while I'm gone?"

"Your cell phone number's on his chart. If he wakes while you're gone, I'll call you."

Catherine mulled over the doctor's offer. She was starving and she smelled like dirt and blood and sweat. A shower would be a relief and food would make her feel a lot better. "Okay," she said. "But I'll be back in fifteen. Call me if anything changes."

Barnes nodded and Catherine jumped out of her chair, moving quickly out of the room.

She briefed the uniformed cops on guard duty and sprinted down the corridor, taking the stars two at a time to the ground floor where the hospital's guest quarters and cafeteria were located.

She stripped, showered, dried and redressed in less than ten minutes. The cafeteria was almost empty at that time of the morning and she jogged through, snagging a bagel, some fruit, a power bar and a cup of coffee. As she paid for the food with the doctor's account a _code blue_ emergency alert sounded over the hospital's speaker system in the background. The cashier smiled at Catherine and nodded as she passed through the checkout. With her arms full of food she navigated to the elevator.

As the lift slowly carried her back up to Vincent's floor Catherine munched on her power bar. She did feel better, her outlook a little brighter. Vincent could do this. He'd pull through. He was strong. And she'd keep talking to him, urging him on, encouraging him to fight to stay alive. Even if he couldn't hear her, it made her feel better.

The elevator door opened and Catherine exited and strode down the hallway through the ICU's double doors toward Vincent's room. As she drew closer she immediately felt like something was off. A heartbeat later she realized what it was. Both of the cops standing guard duty were gone.

Dropping the food in her arms Catherine rushed forward to the room, oblivious as everything crashed to the floor. She bolted inside and pulled up short, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was empty. Vincent's bed and all of the attached equipment were missing. Panic pulsed through her, thoughts churning, muscles tensing.

She spun around and ran out to the nurses' station. Dashing up to the counter she blurted out," Vincent Keller. Where is he?" to a nurse she didn't recognize sitting at a computer work station.

The nurse's eyes shot up at the mention of Vincent's name. "Are you Catherine Chandler?" the nurse asked.

"Yes," Catherine snapped. "Where is Vincent?"

"And you're Mr. Keller's immediate family," she squinted at the computer screen, "his fiancé?"

"Yes, goddammit. Now where is he!"

The nurse's expression turned grave. "He went into cardiac arrest. Dr. Barnes was in the room with him when it happened and called a code blue alert. Mr. Keller's in emergency surgery."

Catherine turned, sprinting out of the ICU and flew down the stars to the hospital's ER section, back toward the operating room area where she had waited earlier in the evening. Running up to the waiting room she saw the two uniformed cops standing in front of the double doors leading back to the ER operating rooms. Both men stepped toward her and she stopped.

"Where is he?" she pushed out in between gulps of air.

The larger of the two - and both were huge - was a cop named O'Malley, who she knew and liked. "In surgery," he said.

"What happened?" Catherine asked.

"Not sure," O'Malley said. "Doc said Keller had a heart attack. We were on it Chandler. He never left our sight until they took him into the operating room."

Catherine took a step toward the double doors but O'Malley blocked her way. "You know you can't go in there."

Catherine tried to push past the big man but he put his hands on her shoulders and held her back. "Come on, detective, get a grip," he growled.

Anger flared, red hot, as she struggled to pry O'Malley's hands off her and push him out of the way. But she was no match for the man who was at least a half-foot taller than Vincent and easily weighed twice as much as her.

Anger turned to panic as she realized she had neither the strength or energy to fight past the man. She stopped struggling and O'Malley's hands relaxed but he didn't let go of her shoulders.

"Look, Chandler, I know this is your case. But you're exhausted and you're acting kinda whacked. You need to get out of here and get some sleep. And on your way out get someone to call Keller's next of kin. The doctor said things don't look so good."

Catherine looked up at O'Malley, knowing her eyes were begging. "But you don't understand," she said.

"Don't understand what?" the big man said, exasperated.

Every ounce of energy drained out of Catherine's body and she went almost limp in the man's huge hands. She looked down through watery eyes at the ring on her finger. "He doesn't have any family, except for me."

She lifted her eyes up to O'Malley and saw him staring at the ring on her hand.

"You and this guy … engaged?" he said.

Catherine nodded.

"Jesus," O'Malley said under his breath. "Holy Mary Mother of God." He pulled Catherine into a bear hug. "I'm sorry, Chandler. Come on. Sit down over here. You're with us on this. We're not going anywhere."

Catherine nodded. "Thanks, O'Malley. Thanks a lot."

"Don't mention it, kid," he said.

Catherine let out a half-hearted laugh at the big cop's comment. He was probably the same age as her.

A moment later she heard the whoosh of the hallway double doors opening and turned to see Dr. Barnes walking from the direction of the operating rooms, his blue scrubs spotted with blood, an operating room cap over his hair and a mask pulled down under his chin. She stood and walked toward him. As he caught sight of Catherine he stopped, his shoulders dropped and he took in a strangled breath. His expression told her everything she needed to know.

"Catherine, I'm …," he struggled for words. "He'd lost too much blood. His heart failed. We did everything we could. Everything." He paused and swallowed hard. "He's gone. I'm so sorry."

The world started to spin and Catherine's legs gave way. She felt strong arms catch her and ease her down to the floor. Slowly her mind pushed back the gray veil that threatened to overtake her and her vision cleared. She stared up at the ceiling lights glaring overhead.

Vincent was dead.

Tendrils of darkness flowed up from her depths into her chest, surrounding her heart, slowly squeezing down, imprisoning it forever in numbing cold.


End file.
